# Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 29

CHAPTER XXIX.
WHEN Judas rose to go, fearful for his own life, and obeying a behest he durst not disobey, he did not go immediately to the Pharisees who awaited him, but made his way by tortuous pathways to the back of Caiaphas's house. The door opened at once on his arrival, as if some one waited, and he was admitted.
"Thou hast been long. What news hast thou?" asked Rebekah breathlessly.
"They sit there yet, and if thou wilt follow now, I can get speech of Him for thee; but thou must hasten, for they will not tarry long, and I must to the Pharisees to instruct them of their movements."
"Thou wilt do no such thing, till I command thee."
"Yet, if I tell them not, I shall lose my money."
"Oh, thou narrow-brained fool, is thirty pieces of silver such riches to thee that it hath turned thy brain? They give thee thirty pieces of silver to betray thy Friend, and I offer thee sixty not to do so; so thou dost earn double money, and betrayest not thy Friend."
"Yet, if after all Lazarus will not hearken unto thee, and thou givest me not the sixty pieces, perchance I shall be too late to warn thy father; thus will I lose the thirty and the sixty."
​"Lead the way," said the haughty Rebekah, scorning to answer such base reasoning, hating to place herself in the hands of so mean a man, yet maddened by her insane desire to obtain speech of Lazarus.
They walked along in silence, Judas full of subtle thoughts, partly remorse, partly hate, but chiefly fear. What if the disciples should turn upon him and slay him? What if Jesus were indeed the Son of God?
So swift and silent was their course through the deserted, moonlit streets that less than twenty minutes brought them to the door of the house in which the supper had been held. Here a man from Caiaphas waited for news from Judas. Both drew back into the darkness when the white, majestic form came out, and the pure, impassioned face of the Nazarene was raised sadly to the moon. So serenely beautiful was He that both could but catch their breath at sight of Him. Lazarus was following the little throng by the backways of Jerusalem when a man suddenly plucked him by the sleeve and murmured: "One thou knowest would have speech with thee; follow me."
Lazarus hesitated, swayed by many doubts. He was loath to separate himself from the little band that accompanied the Christ. To lose Him that night was perhaps never again to see Him alive, or perchance, to miss the legacy of some last word of recommendation; for Lazarus knew that, however devoted were His disciples, they were but illiterate fishermen, most of them; and that it would be he himself, as a ruler and a man of position, besides ​being the living evidence of His greatest miracle, who would bear the brunt of persecution.
Then again, this might be a trap set for his destruction; he felt that at any moment he might be seized and killed or put away, lest his presence should influence the populace. He did not fear death, but it was important that he should live, lest the Nazarene should need him, and also to protect the women who belonged to him. Faintly the image of the Magdalene flitted across his brain.
"Who seeketh me?" he asked the speaker, doubtfully. But, even while he spoke, a written message was thrust into his hands.
"If thou wouldst save the Nazarene, speak with me at once. Rebekah."
Still he hesitated. "Save the Nazarene!" What did it mean, to save the Nazarene? Was it possible? Was He not destined to die and by His death to save? What new problem was this? His pure mind had put away, since that day when they had met, all thought of Rebekah's sensual love; he had striven to believe that she was impressed by the preaching of the Nazarene and sought salvation through Him.
He erred, as so many true, good people err, by wilfully ignoring evil when they see it.
Should he go? Then, even while he hesitated, the little band crossed over the street, and Rebekah sprang forward and seized him by the arm; while Judas, fearful lest his victim should escape him, ran off in the darkness to warn the authorities of the Messiah's movements.
"But capture Him not, till I come again," he said.
​"Dost wish speech of me?" asked Lazarus sternly. "Then prithee, lady, be brief; for the Master is already on His way, and I must follow Him."
"Listen, then," she answered quickly; "I will strike a bargain with thee. If thou wilt love me and take me to be thy wife, then will I go to my father and entreat of him the life of the Nazarene; nay more, I will see to it that an order be sent throughout the country that any who shall lay hands on Him or on His followers shall be condemned; but, if thou shouldst deny me this, ere this bright moon doth unveil herself again, the Nazarene shall hang upon the cross on yonder mount; and mayhap thou too wilt die."
"The cross? The sign of shame?" gasped Lazarus, laying his hand on her arm, forgetful of all else but that the death they planned for his Master was a shameful and degrading one. "The cross!" Rebekah said again, "and thy great Friend, thy Nazarene, thy Christ, will hang affixed with cruel nails from hour to hour, and all the multitude will revile and scoff at Him."
"Hold thy peace, woman," cried Lazarus sharply, shading with his hand his eyes as if to shut out the dreadful picture from his mind. "Peace, be still! Hast thou no heart, that thou canst pierce mine so deeply?
"Hast thou not pierced mine" returned Rebekah.
"O woman, canst thou not understand that that short grief of thine, that fancy of thy maddening brain, is naught, naught compared with this worlds sin, if it should crucify the Lord?"
​"Then if the pain of mine heart be naught, and the sin of crucifying this Man so great, canst thou not give a few years of thy life to save Him? Am I then so unbeautiful, so despised a thing that thou wouldst rather let die the Nazarene than wed me?"
Then, turning upon her the full expression of his earnestness, he spoke once more.
"Noble lady, if thou canst save the Nazarene, thou wilt do it for the love of God. Thou couldst not bear to live if thou hadst helped to crucify the Christ."
"Thou dost not know the daughter of Caiaphas," she answered wildly. "There is naught, naught, naught, I will not do if thou dost spurn me. For thy sake have I come here to-night, for thy sake will I endure my father's wrath and the scorn of all the rulers of the Synagogue, for they will say for love of Lazarus the Nazarene was spared."
"And thinkest thou that, if He would be saved, He could not command legions of angels, and even now slay Caiaphas and all the high priests in the world?"
"Should He do this, perchance we would believe," she answered scoffingly.
"Maiden," said Lazarus impressively, "when I lay dead thou didst come to me and thou saidst: 'If Lazarus do come again to life I will believe.' And every day thou cameest to my sepulchre and didst watch to see they stole me not away. And when thou sawest me rise, didst thou believe?"
"And thou art really that same Lazarus?" said Rebekah musingly.
"Hast given, then, thine heart to two?" asked ​Lazarus scornfully. "Out of thine heart thou art confounded. Thine own heart doth witness of the Christ, for, if thou lovest me still, I must be Lazarus, and if not, why art thou here to-night? Nay, maiden, I will not wed thee, nor can I barter my Lord's freedom for all thy promises of love. Farewell!"
"So much dost thou love the Nazarene that, rather than spend thy life with me, thou wouldst see Him die. How thou must hate me!"
But Lazarus had already hurried after the others. For one instant he had hesitated, debating whether it were possible to influence this perverse daughter of Israel, and, by influencing her, to bring about the safety of his Lord. But he knew that it was not to be. The present safety of the Nazarene would mean the holding of Him back from eternal glory, eternal rest; the delaying of His return to the Father who had sent Him, the prolonging of the agony of the earthly ministry.
"What thou doest, do quickly," the Lord had said. It would be best now that all should be quickly over; yes, though his heart fainted within him when he reflected on the Saviour's sufferings, it were better that these sufferings, which had to be, should once for all be undergone, than remain hanging over the head of that gentle Saviour, like thunder clouds about to burst.
It was necessary that He should die; Lazarus, who had been in Hades, knew it better than did all other men.
Besides, he had a question to ask the Lord, if a fitting moment could be found. He must hurry on, ​and he did so, this time oblivious of courtesy or chivalry to Rebekah, absorbed in the one great fear that he might miss the Lord.
So, in the moonlit night, he tore along the narrow streets—as he had torn along the broad road following the Christ—all the way to the Mount of Olives and into the very Garden of Gethsemane.
When Lazarus gained the side of Jesus, the answer to the question in his mind was given without his seeking it.
"A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another." Lazarus started; the eyes of Jesus seemed to fall on him, enveloping him with the tenderness of infinite love, a love wide enough to enfold the world.
Then, in the dark, Iscariot crept up to Rebekah, who was leaning faint and powerless against the porch that stood out from the house, her figure casting a great black shadow on the wall, which was almost white in the moon's silvery light.
"Shall I, then, save the Nazarene?" he asked.
"Nay, slay Him, slay Him quickly; go earn thy thirty pieces of silver, and, for aught I care," she added furiously, "slay Lazarus too."
And, with a hideous cry, the traitor fled; and the haughty, vengeful maiden wended her way homewards through the silent streets, the hot blood surging to her ears and brow, and oblivious of place and hour and danger and of all, save that Lazarus was gone from her forever and that she hated the Nazarene with an undying hatred.
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