Anat was spinning in the cool shadow of the house; the stones of the little court had been newly washed, and a refreshing odor of cleanliness mingled with the fragrance which poured out from the snowy bells of the lilies beside the cistern. Close to her feet snuggled the three small brown children, listening while she sang. After a time the singer faltered a little; she was chanting the Psalm of the Watchful Love:

    "Jehovah is thy keeper,
    Jehovah thy abode on thy right hand;
    The sun shall not hurt thee by day,
    Neither the moon by night."
    

She paused. What was that deep, dull roar? Her face paled a little.

"Sing!" cried the boy imperatively, pulling at her robe.

"Sing!" echoed the baby, looking up at her with his soft, starry eyes.

As for the little maiden, she contented herself with softly stroking the girl\'s sandaled foot.

    "Jehovah keep thee from all evil."

Yes, she could surely hear a sound of tumult--what could it be?

    "He will keep thy life,
    

--"O my God! Keep him--keep him!--

    "Jehovah keep thy coming and thy going
    Henceforth and forever!"
    

The singer started to her feet with a cry. The street door had burst open violently, a man rushed in, ghastly, breathless, with wild staring eyes; she at first failed to recognize Ben Obed.

"My God! they are killing him!"

"Where?"

"Outside the Damascus Gate--they are stoning him!"

Anat stood for an instant like some beautiful soulless statue of despair. Then a wild fire leapt to her eyes.

"Tell them!" she said, and fled away out of the open door, away--away toward the Damascus Gate.

Women stared after her, men stretched forth their hands to grasp her, but she heeded them not; her feet seemed leaden, the minutes hours. The Damascus Gate--would she ever reach it? Again and again Ben Obed\'s awful cry sounded in her ears:

"My God! they are killing him!"

The gate--the gate at last; but it is choked with people coming in. Men, she dimly saw, men with long robes and broad phylacteries; men to whom the gate-keepers did reverence while they shrank back with involuntary fear. Men who drew away from her white robe and whiter face muttering, "A mad woman--a mad dog!"

At last she has struggled through them, outside the Damascus Gate at last. Where--where? Yes, yonder is a crowd, it must be there.

"Let me through, for God\'s sake! Let me through!"

Staring stupidly at her, the crowd separated. There upon the ground, half-hidden under a pile of stones, lay--something. She threw herself upon her knees, pulling madly at the rough, broken rock with her delicate fingers. Then she gave a long, heart-broken scream and fell forward in merciful unconsciousness.

*      *      *      *      *

"My daughter." There was no answer, though the black eyes were wide open. Mary hesitated an instant, her sad lips moved in prayer. "Anat, my child," she said, softly. "Wilt thou not look once more upon his face before they bear him hence. I would that thou see for thy comfort that God hath set upon him the visible seal of his love, in that the peace that passeth understanding is writ thereon."

The girl rose feebly. "Take me to him," she said, putting out her hand.

And Mary led her into the peaceful chamber where they had laid him. The afternoon sun shot long rays of splendor across the face on the pillow, beautiful with the beauty of youth and of holiness, and touched with the sublimer beauty of death. The look that he had worn when he cried out at sight of Jesus waiting to receive him yet lingered there, his face was as the face of an angel who slept.

"For so he giveth his beloved sleep," murmured Mary, who stood at her side. At that word the maiden turned and the pent-up fountain of her tears broke forth. And the two wept together--but not as those without hope.

And so ............