Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-03-02
CHAPTER XVI,

ANNAS AND LAZARUS FALL OUT.
The guest OF the High Priest at Capernaum
could not sleep. The rich, Eastern star
light regarded him soothingly; the wind
had fallen; the angry waters of the lake
were appeased; the luxurious couch of
Lazarus wooed him to rest; perfect stiffness
brooded upon the household of Annas; it
was more like the silence of death than of
life, so exhausted were the members of the
High Priests family. The experience of
the evening had been tremendous to the
comfortable, oriental nature, which likes to
take things easily; and from Annas to the
lowest slave within the villa the reaction of
stolid slumber succeeded to the nervous ex-
citement of the dav. Zahara herself slept
like little tired girl. Only Lazarus kept
watch.
For him it was the widest stimulant to
rest beneath the same roof which sheltered
the woman of his love. Accident had thrown
to him the treasure of a chance which, in
the ordinary social course of events, would
never have been his. He dreamed and
trembled over it. His heart thrilled with
the tenderest fancies, and sunk into the
saddest despair. The situation seen from
the lonely shore of the lake, in shock and
storm and in the teeth of death, with Zahara
clasped upon his heart, was one thing; the
autocracy of love took hold of it and dashed
it into the rainbow colors and shapes of
hope. That Zahara must be his, somehow,
somewhere, somewhen, seemed then only a
matter of course, the simplest axioms in the
problem of life. Now, viewed from the
villa of Annas and the solitude of midnight,
and from the renewal of social conventions,
the position of the lovers looked to be an
other matter. Lazarus stood aghast at it.
How in the name of loves dearest dream
was he ever to win for wife the daughter of
the High Priest? II he could have snatched
the girl, and seized her, and away with her
upon the feetest camel of the desert, with
Ishmaelite guards, unto some Ishmaelite
home, and there cherished and protected her
and adored her and kept her to himself for
ever!
Visions such as his maddest moment never
knew, beset the quick soul of Lazarus. His
nature had struck tempest. In storms
like these the calmest, the gentlest, the
purest hearts 60 to wreck. Lazarus was in
moral whirlwind.
His situation was complicated by the too
ready subterfuge of Zahara concerning the
manner of her rescue. He had fallen into
her loving trap at the moment in sheer hap
piness and bewilderment. How contradict
a lady? And she the idol of his life and
the daughter of his host? But solitude
criticised Lazarus. Midnight reviewed his
position with severity. SIeeplessness said
strange things to him. Darkness held mute
reproaches before him. Friendship and
love wrestled together in his tormented
sensibility. A touch calmer than Zahara' s
recalled him. A face graver than hers re-
garded him. Colder, purer, higher than
the delirium OF love, the eyes of duty looked
into his own. That solemn figure, tall and
stately, treading down the tempest, walked
with sacred ieet throughout his thoughts.
He remembered the Nazarene with a pro-
found self-scorn.
AS soon as it was dawn Lazarus hastened
from his chamber into the pure, pink air.
1t was peaceful morning. The lake lay
like a sleeping baby in the cradle of the
hills. The storm had freshened all the
world. The colors of the trees and gardens
seemed to throb with life. Lazarus stepped
out among the dew-dropping fruit trees
with bowed and saddened head.
1t was with sharp emotion, half pain,
half pleasure, that ne saw, as he turned
back toward the villa, the figure of the
High Priest advancing to meet him. Annas
was alone. The two men met with un-
precedented cordiality. The heart OF
Lazarus warmed toward the father OF
Zahara, and that of Annas melted toward
her savior. The High Priest passed the
courtesies of the morning with his guest in
terms of unusual heartiness. He began at
once to renew his expressions of gratitude
for the rescue of his daughter. 1t was then
that Lazarus suddenly, almost violently,
interrupted him:
"Sir, do wrong myself, and you. No
longer can 1 endure this miserable position.
II tacitly accept the false, falseness enters
into me. I must undeceive you at once"
"Pray, sir" said the High Priest, looking
slightly startled, "to what circumstance OF
circumstances can your language possibly
refer?"
ITO the strangest of circumstances, and
the most difficult to explaiu-to yourself. u
"Why indeed to MYSELF" asked the
priest, with naughty curl of the lip, "an
/ so dull of intellect that the events of life
may not be made comprehensive 10 my
mind?"
Lazarus bowed. with adeprecating motion
of the hand, which was reply enough to the
sarcasm of the priest. Alter moment.
silence he said abruptly:
"It was not who saved the life of the
/ lady Zahara, your daughter. Would that
could claim a privilege too valuable t.
have been accorded by Heaven to me.''
The High Priest gave his guest a narrow
look; quick as the fash of q scimetar, anc
as quickly sheathed.
'To whom then-lf not yourself, my
worthy sir-am indebted for this heavies
of obligation?"
ITO the last man in Judea from whom
you will desire to receive it.