But it was time to depart. His chariot was waiting; and seizing the reins of his noble steeds, he joined the great current which flowed towards the Temple and its spacious enclosure. Arriving in due time, he entered by the most prominent triumphal gateway, and after ostentatiously driving several times around the broad circular highway, left his chariot with an attendant, in order more freely to enjoy the sights and sounds, and indulge in the pleasures of the vast enclosure. He found two or three friends, and with them joined in some of the sports and games. But after a time, wearying of these, they came upon a large booth richly ornamented with occult art, having an inscription over the entrance:—
“HOUSE OF MAGIC AND DIVINATION.”
Entering, they found themselves in the spacious atrium, where each visitor waited his turn, and made his choice as to which of the divers inner mysteries he would consult. Out of this large reception-room many portals opened which penetrated to unknown interiors of enchantment and sorcery. The peculiar class to which each belonged was indicated by occult emblems or cabalistic signs inscribed upon the various oval valves that opened farther inward. An attending magician interpreted them. One led to a wizard’s cave of spells and incantations; another to realms where converse with shades was held; another to oracular answers and predictions; another to charms for healing; another to the furnishing of love philters; and finally, one was given to curses and horrors.
Leander chose the last named. His hatred towards Marcius flashed up as he saw the symbols, and he would know the mystery, and perchance an instrument for enmity.
“I fear neither gods nor men!” he exclaimed; “and I will acquaint myself with the worst.”
His friends sought enchantments of the milder forms.
He was in an impatient mood, but had not long to wait when the curious valve leading to the department last named swung open of its own accord, and a hoarse voice from within, though seemingly very distant, cried,—
“ENTER THOU THE MYSTIC SHRINE!”
He passed in, and the valve closed behind him. He found himself in a dimly lighted, narrow passage-way, which he followed, that led under ground in mazy, sinuous fashion, seemingly without end. He smiled at the slight weird feeling which stole upon him, but pushed on. He feared nothing, for he believed nothing. There were no such things as visions, spectres, or shades. He had come for amusement—or rather, if possible, to find a way of revenge.
At length the passage widened into a cave of indefinite dimensions. It was but dimly lighted by a small fire in a recess of jagged rocks. The walls of the cave in other directions seemed to be composed of an indefinable mist of unknown depth, upon which flashed a dim tremulous phosphorescence. Over the fire was suspended a caldron, the contents of which seethed and bubbled, emitting a pungent vapor that wreathed itself overhead in illy defined forms that seemed to crawl and leap. Upon a shelf suspended in mid-air without visible support, an assortment of tiny phials containing various colored liquids gleamed with an unearthly light, and near by hung small bundles of dried herbs and roots. Upon a rough iron tripod stood a grotesque statue of the Hecate, through whose eyes shone a dull red light, as if they were heated by an inner flame. Several skeletons and many more skulls were arranged at different angles, the eyes of which remained in their places, shining with a red light of their own. Leander was the cynosure of them all.
He looked about him for a moment, taking in the various details, and then burst into loud laughter.
“By Bacchus! an artistic combination to impress infants! But where, oh, where, lingereth the presiding siren? The combination seemeth to run itself! Come out! Thy caldron needs stirring!”
Then he gave another hearty laugh at his own wit and eloquence. The reverberations which indefinitely repeated themselves through the distant passages sounded like a multitudinous mocking chorus.
“Shades of Tophet! the acoustic properties are well provided!”
He gave another loud call for the sorceress in charge. The sound of his voice seemed split into a hundred fragments—a chaos of weird echoes upon all keys.
“Go on with your cackling! I welcome every demon that sails his bark upon the Cocytus!”
But as a female form of gigantic proportions slowly emerged from the background, his heart gave a leap.
Covering her dishevelled gray locks was a tall, pointed red turban; her mouth, partly open, showed two irregular rows of long, dark teeth, and her large stony eyes were fastened upon him with a freezing stare. Her features were ashy gray and unearthly.
But in spite of appearances, Leander gathered himself together, and with a chuckle exclaimed,—
“By the thirst of Bacchus! I adjudge this a strong and artistic stage-setting for a Greek tragedy!”
Then, striking an attitude, he began, in impassioned style, to recite some lines from one of the dramas of Sophocles.
After listening a while the horrible gigantic Shape began slowly to turn away, and exclaimed in hoarse, hollow tones,—
“Enough! I surrender!”
Leander neatly turned the exclamation into a compliment.
“My oratory conquers gods, men, or she-devils!”
He then addressed the retiring Shape.
“Stay, I pray thee! Thou art not comely, but peradventure thou canst serve me! I would have none of thy incantations, but thou hast in store a variety of potions. Art thou skilled in their preparation?”
“For more than twoscore years have I distilled and cunningly concentrated the occult and deadly forces of nature,” said the Shape with a ghastly grin. “I am a daughter of the Etrurians, and their wonderful secrets and enchantments have come down to me from the dim past. I have philters for the loveless, promises of treasure for the needy, and potions for revenge, for tragedy, for blight, and for destiny! What wilt thou?”
“Hast thou a blight which will very slowly, but with grim certainty, dull the reason, destroy the wisdom, and hasten to decay before the wonted time all the faculties of the Mind?”
The Shape stretched out her long, bony fingers and took one of the small phials, and holding it before her stony eyes, replied,—
“In color and taste like water; yet he who takes it in any form, in three years will become a drivelling idiot! The brain! the brain! It slowly scorches, and nothing can put it out! It will mingle with water or even Falernian!”
The Shape gave a malicious leer.
“I believe neither in shades, spectres, nor enchantments, but of chemistry am persuaded! But how can I be assured of what thou sayest?”
“I will give thee a sign of my power!”
“As thou wilt.”
The Shape, taking an empty phial, poured into it a portion of the contents of several of the dark liquids, and the mixture was clear and colorless.
“By the eyes of yonder Hecate, thou hast power! and now the price of thy potion?”
“From thee, O dramatic ranter, a full purse of gold, for thou art rich.”
Leander drew from an inner secret fold in his tunic a small purse filled with gold, and taking the phial, carefully deposited it in the place from whence he had taken the coin.
He chuckled to himself as he thought of his new-found secret for revenge upon Marcius, and was about to turn towards the entrance when the hag interposed,—
“A mutual oath of secrecy before thou departest.”
Then she grasped his hand with her long, bony fingers, and placing it upon the head of the Hecate of the burning eyes, covered it with one of her own.
“Repeat after me!”
Leander repeated the oath.
“May all the gods curse me, if I reveal aught of this transaction!”
Leander turned to go.
“Thou art the first who hath entered here and not quailed! Farewell!”
Leander soon found himself again amid the crowds in the sunshine of the garden.
Was it a dream?
He thrust his hand under the secret fold of his tunic, and the phial was there.
It was now late in the afternoon, and the streets, leading from the Temple and its grounds towards the lower part of the city, were filled with groups of gay revellers on their return. There was an easy air of careless enjoyment which possessed all classes and ages. Young men and boys were waving banners or singing songs, and the flitting forms of women and girls in picturesque attire, with their ringing, playful laughter, were everywhere to be seen.
In one of the main thoroughfares where these merry throngs were passing was the largest Jewish synagogue in Tarsus. During the afternoon there had been a special religious ceremonial, and the congregation emerged in a mass just as some of the crowds from the festival were passing by. The recent growing prejudice, but more especially the rumor of the missing children, had stirred up a bitter hatred which needed but a spark to cause an outburst of open warfare.
No greater contrast could be imagined in appearance than that between the lively votaries of the Tarsian deities, and the stiff, conceited, and austere Hebrews. The disciples of the synagogue wore long robes with broad borders and girdles, and mingled here and there with them were priests with tall cup-shaped turbans, breastplates, and broad phylacteries. Their measured pace, solemn countenances, and proud, exclusive bearing seemed like a spoken rebuke and even an insult to the great current which was flowing by from the Temple of Apollo. Some who were nearest began to utter derisive cries against the Israelites.
“Down with the bigots!”
“Behold the murderers, who take children for burnt-offerings!”
“Drive them from Tarsus!”
“The gods curse them!”
“Woe to the circumcision!”
“Hurl them into the Cydnus!”
These were among the cries which fell upon the ears of the Hebrews as they poured out of the synagogue. The excitement grew apace, and the rabble began to close in around them, hurling such missiles as were at hand.
Soon the attack became general.
Turbans, breastplates, phylacteries, and all other distinctive insignia were stripped off, and many men, women, and children were beaten and wounded. The mêlée, so quickly started, became general, and spread over a large space. The cry, “Murderers of children!” was taken up in every direction.
For a while the Jews rallied, and essayed to defend themselves, but being overwhelmingly outnumbered, began to scatter and flee as best they could. Some escaped through side streets and lanes, and many were borne down, bleeding and wounded.
Rebecca was among the number. Though caring little for the ceremonials of her people, she still outwardly observed them from strength of habit and association, and in compliance with the earnest requests of her father.
In the great tumult she became separated from all her friends, and twice was thrown down and trampled upon. At length, with torn garments and her beautiful hair streaming behind, she darted through a narrow passage into an open square, still followed by a small rabble of the lowest class.
Marcius had taken no notice of the festival, he and Serenus having gone upon a drive up the right bank of the Cydnus. They were returning when rumors of the outbreak came to their ears. Marcius hurried on in order to exercise his authority in its suppression.
They quickly turned a corner, when at a little distance a dishevelled woman was seen running rapidly toward them, screaming, and closely followed by a mob. She was faint and ready to fall; but seeing, though not recognizing them, besought their aid.
Marcius drove rapidly forward, standing with whip in hand, and with an air of authority demanded order.
“Back! I say, and leave her alone! Disperse, ye rioters!”
As she came near, Serenus caught a full view of her beautiful face, and could not be mistaken.
“As I live, it is Rebecca!”
Marcius stopped his horses, announced his office, and the mob quickly melted away. Then lifting the exhausted Rebecca into the carriage with them, Marcius drove rapidly to his palace.
They tenderly bore her unconscious form within, and deposited it in the apartments of Serenus, in the care of Amabel.
CHAPTER XXIX
CHANGES OF SOUL-COLOR
The links of circumstance are securely welded into the chain of life so that none can be lost or missed. The effect of to-day is only transmuted into the cause of to-morrow.
Marcius was deeply impressed by the face of Rebecca. There was an indefinable peculiarity about her charming features which the flight of years had not effaced. But when, where, or under what circumstances he had seen her, he was utterly at a loss to conceive.
From the moment of her rescue from the mob, until with the help of Serenus he delivered her to the care of Amabel, he seemed to be under a peculiar abstraction. But mingled with an indefinable shock at a sense of some mysterious recognition, there was a surprise, even under the untoward circumstances, at her unwonted beauty and evident refinement. His peculiar feelings were an enigma to himself. Why should one of a race so generally disesteemed, even though comely, so move him?
The injuries which Rebecca had received at the hands of the mob proved to be severe. After attending to immediate requirements for her relief, Serenus proceeded to acquaint her parents concerning her. Remembering that she had made known to him while in Jerusalem that she was the daughter of Benoni, he hastened to find him.
As the father was one of the more prominent of the Hebrew citizens of Tarsus, Serenus found it easy to ascertain his place of abode. Pursuing a thoroughfare which led to the Orontes Gate, in the northwestern part of the city, he soon approached the family domicile. Upon the outside all was peaceful and serene. The broad terraces were dotted with clusters of flowering plants and shrubs which filled the air with their fragrance. The silvery Cydnus lay spread out in the near foreground, and winding paths, with flights of steps, led directly down to the shore. The house, Hebraic in design, was simply though rather richly embellished by symbolic emblems peculiar to the Chosen People, and Serenus was impressed by the beauty and taste everywhere evident.
The door was opened in response to his knock, and upon entering he found great sorrow and confusion. Benoni and his wife had barely escaped from the mob, and had reached home but a short time before bruised and exhausted. But forgetting themselves, they were bitterly bewailing the loss of Rebecca, supposing that she had perished in the street.
“Peace be unto this house! In the midst of your affliction I bring good tidings!” said Serenus after his hasty but warm salutation. “I am a Hebrew, lately arrived from the Holy City, and have much joy in making known to you that your daughter hath been saved from the rabble.”
Benoni closely scanned the tall, graceful form and clear, handsome face of Serenus, and they brought a terrible scene of the past vividly to his memory.
“The God of Israel be praised! I shall never forget thee! Thou art again a minister of mercy, and I thank thee for thy compassion.”
“Thou dost remember my face?”
“Did I not behold thee in the Temple-court, when in the mad panic thou didst lift Rebecca from my shoulders and bear her to a place of safety? Did not mine eyes see thee from the house-top in the line of captives on thy way to prison, when Almon, mine host, made known to me that thou wert he who saved Saulus from the thieves and brought him to the inn at midnight? May thou be doubly blessed! But I am grieved on thy behalf! How could Saulus count thee—as—his—enemy?”
“I beseech thee think no more of the things of the past. I have come to inform thee that thy daughter Rebecca is at the palace of the Vice Legate, tenderly cared for by my wife Amabel?”
“Thou dost gladden my heart! And hast thou assurance that she is not sorely wounded?”
“Recovery will come in due season, but perchance for a few days it may be prudent that she remain.”
Rebecca’s mother also poured out her thanks to Serenus, but being overcome by faintness, was obliged to seek retirement.
Benoni was in a state of great perplexity. The events of the past in the Holy City, and the unexpected riotous outbreak of the day, filled him with questioning and disquietude, which were increased by the sudden appearance of Serenus. Thrice the guardian angel of his family, could this man be “the enemy of Saulus”? Moreover, was it possible that he was the betrayer of the religion of his fathers?
While rejoicing over the escape of Rebecca, and feeling grateful for the past and present kindness of Serenus, a current of the bitterness and prejudice which possessed him at Jerusalem momentarily made itself felt. Too weak also from the terrible experience of the day to visit Rebecca, he was greatly troubled, and bowed his head in silence and tears.
After a little delay, Serenus uttered a few warm words of encouragement, and started to take his leave, promising to come again on the morrow and bring further tidings of Rebecca, and peradventure perform any other service.
Then Benoni relented and aroused himself.
“Tarry for a little, I pray thee, that we may have further converse.”
Serenus again seated himself by his side, gently taking one of his hands in his own, as if he would soothe his distresses.
“Behold our many trials work together for good! Thy daughter will be restored, and thou made glad!”
The hardness of Benoni melted before the friendly warmth of Serenus.
“Thanks be to thee for thy words of comfort. Behold thou didst save both Saulus and Rebecca from the hand of the destroyer; yea, twice thou hast given back my daughter, and I love and honor thee!”
“Thou dost commend me overmuch! To Marcius, the Vice Legate, is due the rescue of Rebecca from the hands of the rabble. He is a noble Roman, and will have respect unto thee and thy house.”
“Is he thy friend?”
“Yea, verily!”
“And thou a Hebrew?”
“I was born a Hebrew!”
“I marvel at what thou sayest!”
“A Roman may have a warm heart!”
“I marvel again! but if so, I am persuaded that thou must have warmed it!”
“There is an affection, not born of race or position, and even the Vice Legate of Tarsus hath begun to feel somewhat of its glow!”
“But doth not he worship the Tarsian gods?”
“Aforetime and formally, yea! but he is reaching out after a Higher,—the God of all the earth!”
“But behold the God of Israel ruleth all the earth!”
“And all the peoples of the earth are his children!”
“And thou a Hebrew! I cannot understand what thou sayest. It is written that Moses called the Lord a Man of War. Hath he not then enmity against the Gentiles?”
“He hath enmity against no man!”
“Again thou speakest strange things! Thy spirit is wise and good and thy heart full of charity, but thou lightly regardest the things that are written.”
“Verily the springs of God are in the inner man! The things that are written may be expedient and profitable in their day and generation, but they are not yet fully perfected. Behold the written law is a schoolmaster leading towards Truth!”
“Sayest thou that the revelation of God is not perfected in the law as handed down to our fathers?”
“Nay! God is ever revealing himself in divers ways, and will never cease.”
Again Benoni bowed his head in bewilderment. At length, lifting his eyes towards the face of Serenus, he inquired,—
“Canst thou forgive Saulus for his bitter persecution of thee and thy friends?”
“I have forgiven him from the beginning!”
Benoni’s eyes filled with tears as he put his arms about the young man, embracing him warmly. Serenus arose to depart.
“I will bring thee tidings from Rebecca on the morrow, and peradventure thou mayest be able to visit her.”
The conflict of the ages—that which hath torn innumerable souls before and since—the Spirit versus the Letter—waxed strong in the mind of Benoni for hours after Serenus had taken his departure.
Nothing less than some upheaval of marvellous force can change a strong current of chronic dogmatic prejudice. It may be interrupted, but there is a mighty tendency for the stream to return to its well-worn channel.
The vague mystery of some dim recollection of the face of Rebecca increased the interest which Marcius otherwise would have felt in her welfare and improvement. Losing no time after their arrival, he despatched a messenger to call his own physician, and also sent for two skilful nurses who were to alternate in their attendance under the general supervision of Amabel. Then he proceeded without delay to take all possible means, in connection with the Legate and other Roman officials, for the suppression of the tumult.
A cohort of soldiers was hastily ordered into service; but as the Hebrews had all fled to their homes, except the small number that were killed or wounded, and the rabble scattered, they found little to do. So many of the leaders of the attack as could be identified were placed under arrest, and the Hebrews assured of future liberty and protection. A proclamation also was issued, over the imperial seal of Cæsar, commanding religious toleration.
On the evening of the same day Marcius was alone in his private office reviewing the events which had happened. Crowning the strange impressions already noted was another, which was unwonted and distinct. Transcending the romance of the rescue of the beautiful and mysterious Jewess, a peculiar gladness welled up within him at the feeling of having succored the weak and innocent in the hour of trial. It was the first purely moral upheaval in the soul of Marcius of that unique satisfaction which grows out of a beneficent act well done. Not that he took any credit for having performed a simple manly duty, but rather felt a spontaneous and genuine thankfulness that the circumstances had conferred a great privilege upon him. As he looked back over a past so long ruled by selfishness and passion, he was surprised at the revelation of the luxury of doing good, even though it came in the line of official obligation. He almost felt a reverence for the simple Hebrew maiden, who had been the instrument of revealing the loftiest consciousness within him that he had ever experienced. A hitherto unknown beneficent impulse had been awakened within him that would never again go back to latency. It included ministry to the weak, protection to the innocent, and help to the helpless, whenever opportunity might offer. Though to the world, or even the average man of affairs, the incident would seem trivial, yet a door, before unknown, had been opened, and Marcius, the Roman, had added a cubit to his spiritual stature.
After Rebecca was borne into the palace, she remained a full hour in a state of unconsciousness. Willing hands and loving hearts exercised themselves in every form of helpful devotion. No bones were broken, but the terrible shock, with the severe bruises received while under the feet of the mob, made her condition of serious import.
Upon opening her eyes, she was bewildered on account of the strange surroundings. But the bright cheerful face of Amabel, who was holding her hand and stroking her forehead, reassured her.
“Where am I? and what has happened?”
“Thou art surrounded by warm friends, and peace and joy belong to thee. Be not disquieted, for all is well!”
“I have had a terrible dream—nay, it must be more than a dream, for I am in a strange place, and cannot move!”
“Thou art in the palace of the Vice Legate of Tarsus! He snatched thee from the hand of the cruel horde, and brought thee here and placed thee in my charge. Our love, care, and healing influence will restore thee!”
“Thy kindly young face seemeth familiar! Wilt thou be pleased to tell me concerning thyself?”
“I am Amabel, the daughter of Rabban Gamaliel of Jerusalem, and wife of Serenus!”
“My love and thanks go out to thee for thy goodly service.”
She was then made acquainted with the escape of her father and mother; but soon a confused mingling of past scenes, with faintness from the terrible shock of the afternoon, overcame her, and she sank into a deep slumber.
After two or three hours she awoke visibly improved. Though very weak, she now clearly recalled all the events of the day, excepting those during the period of her unconsciousness. As she looked up, both Serenus and Amabel were seated by her side. The face of the former at once brought before her the well-remembered scenes of the Holy City. The panic of the Feast of Weeks, their subsequent conversation, the procession of prisoners, and other events of the persecution, were all vividly recalled. Yet this was “the friend of Saulus.” Then she thought of the previous day, when Serenus and Amabel coming from the Nereid were driven through the streets in the company of that Roman whose dark face was so deeply engraven upon her memory.
“There is much that seemeth mysterious to me!” she exclaimed; and then turning towards Serenus said,—
“Of a verity thou wert the preserver both of Saulus and myself in the Holy City, and now, behold thou hast appeared in Tarsus and saved me from the fury of the mob! But I cannot understand”—
“Of a truth it was not I, but Marcius, the Vice Legate, who delivered thee from danger and brought thee to this place of refuge. Perchance I rendered some service, but to him thy thanks are due for thine escape.”
Rebecca again closed her eyes for a few moments, but her memory was busy.
Marvel of Marvels!
Noticing her confusion, Serenus quietly observed,—
“Thou wilt know all in due time, but pray let slumber gently seal thine eyelids until the morrow. We will aid thee to realize the Present Help, and through a spiritual strength which shall be thine, thou shalt feel new life with the rising of the sun!”
Silence then prevailed, and she sank into a sweet, restful slumber.
“O Light of my Life!” said Amabel in a low tone, “I am filled with the remembrance of thy gracious ministry when I passed down to the border of the tomb in my father’s house. All that then seemed so adverse was but the pathway through which I was led into the Truth! And now, touching this trial, peradventure it will be the means of bringing great light and peace into the soul of Rebecca.”
“Yea, verily, Love of my Heart! Good springeth forth from evil! And now let us be silent channels whereby the presence of the Universal Good shall become manifest in her.”
Profound stillness then prevailed.
The place seemed hallowed.
As the dim evening light shone softly upon the closed eyes and fair cheeks of Rebecca, a sweet smile wreathed her lips. Perchance she was dreaming of peace, love, and an overcoming faith.
The two young disciples of the New Faith sat near her as the moments passed silently by.
A Voice spoke through them, but not in words. “Child of God! Thou art a spark of Immortal Flame! an image of the Universal Spirit! It is thine to govern and harmonize the outward form. Thou hast new life already! God is Spirit, and his dwelling-place is with his offspring. He is thy Life, Love, and Strength, through the understanding of the laws of thy being. Behold the very breath of God is within thee! His strength is freely thine own!”
* * * * * * * * * *
Serenus retired from the room.
The next morning found a very marked improvement in the condition of Rebecca. She was surprised at the unwonted joy and gladness which like a fountain spontaneously sprung up within her. There was also a great recovery in her bodily condition.
Opening her eyes, with a calm cheerfulness she warmly greeted Amabel, who was already by her side,—
“The morning light hath brought me peace, dear Amabel! I feel such an assurance of strength and happiness that it seemeth a mystery.”
“Peradventure thou hast some inner kindling of the New Faith!”
“Tell me of it; for even the bodily presence of you—its disciples—bringeth a peculiar benediction!”
“We are but its instruments of spiritual ministration!”
“Cometh it down from the God of the Hebrews in answer to your petitions?”
“Behold the presence of God filleth all things, both great and small, and his loving favor hath no constraint of tribe or nation! We need not beg, for no willingness is lacking with him. To open our souls to the abundance which is already provided, comprehendeth the Spirit of the New Faith!”
“Peradventure I felt some faint beginnings of its presence within me while I was yet in the Holy City, but Serenus and thyself have it in living fulness!”
“Behold the power and love which inspire may come through silent communication from another soul! The Spirit speaketh through one to another to the inner ear.”
“How mysterious, and yet how beautiful!”
“When the Image of God within is discovered, in due time it maketh its fruits manifest in the outer and seen.”
“Hath Marcius, the Vice Legate, accepted the New Faith?”
“He hath not yet fully avowed it, but is possessed of a growing desire to know the Truth. Though a Roman, the dawn of a higher consciousness already hath shone into his soul, and perchance the good seed which Serenus hath sown will spring forth into a full harvest.”
“It appeareth that you are his friends and guests. I rejoice that it hath so come to pass, but it seemeth strange!”
Amabel then briefly related the whole story of the shipwreck, and of the friendliness and growing interest of Marcius in their teaching.
After listening to the narrative, Rebecca closed her eyes, while Memory held its graphic pictures before her.
Back, back to the evening on the Cydnus—the storm—the scene in the palace—the boyish, brotherly devotion of Saulus, and the outcome of complete salvation.
Then she quickly roamed over the succeeding years,—the change in Saulus—his terrible persecutions—her life in the Holy City—and on, on, down to the events of the past two days.
Verily, life was a mysterious labyrinth!
She was again in a palace of Marcius!
But Marcius was another Marcius; the same only in name; the friend of her friends, and the doer of good deeds. Nay, more. He was her deliverer from death, and his house her place of refuge.
No! he could never recognize her!
She resolved to lock up the secret of the first Marcius!
He was forgiven, forgotten—blotted out!