The Maccabee's lips were against her cheek as he continued to speak.
"It is the end! There is no help for us. Love me, and let me be happy
an hour before we perish! The Nazarene is right! The city is cursed!
God's wrath is upon us. The hour is still ours. Love me and let us
die!"
Without the great voice, like an unwearying bell, was calling:
"A sign! A sign! Behold the Deliverer! Come all ye who would share his
triumph and hear! Hear! Come ye and be fed, ye hungry; be drunken, ye
thirsty; love and be loved, ye forlorn!"
Laodice stiffened in the Maccabee's clasp.
"Dost thou hear?" she whispered. "It may be true!"
He shook his head that he had bowed upon her shoulder.
"Let us go," she urged. "Perchance he has comfort for us. Come,
Hesper; let us see what he has for the forlorn."
"Who?" he asked dully.
"They say the Deliverer has come."
He shook his head again, but with her two hands she lifted his face
from its refuge, and urging with her eyes and her hands and her lips
she led him toward the stairs. The Christian looked after them.
"_For there shall arise false Christs; and false prophets, and shall
shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they
shall deceive the very elect_," he said sorrowfully.
The horror of the city augmented hour by hour. The Jerusalem Laodice
locked upon now was infinitely more afflicted than the one she had
seen in the daylight days before.
Pages:
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305