We
are called to go forth and see it fall!"
A voice swept by distantly crying that a woman had eaten her child.
Crazed Posthumus, self-elected guardian of the Law, with the sacred
roll under his arm, declaimed, without any of his audience attending,
that prophecy which this horror fulfilled.
All Jerusalem was in the streets; all Jerusalem poured into the
immense open space where some palatial ruin stood, and melted in the
giant concourse that gathered to hear the prophetess.
Laodice and the Maccabee were unable to see the woman; only her voice,
mystic, musical, pitched at a singing monotone, intoning rather than
speaking, reached them from the distance. The long harangue, delivered
as a chant, had long ago had a mesmerizing effect on her audience.
Absolutely she controlled them; along the dead level of her preaching
they maintained a low continuous murmur, accompanied by a slight slow
swaying of the body; in the climaxes of the appeal they responded with
cries and wild gestures, flinging themselves about in attitudes
characteristic of their frenzy. In their faces was the reflection of a
peculiar light that proved that derangement had settled over
Jerusalem. It was the end of the reign of reason.
"It is the abomination of desolation. Even so, it is finished! It is
the time, it is full time, and Michael hath come. There are seventy
weeks; behold them.
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