Three days after the death of Lazarus, Mary sat alone in his room beside the empty couch, which was turned upside down, as were the chairs also. The clothing that hung on the wall was covered with sackcloth and the tightly drawn window curtains were banded with black.

"Art thou ready to go to the tomb?" Martha asked, coming to the door of the room. "Soon will the mourners come from Jerusalem and great will the weeping be at the grave of our brother. Where is thy sackcloth?"

"Neither sackcloth nor ashes have I put on. Only to think, come I to this silent room."

"Knowest thou not it is yet unclean?"

"Uncleanness cometh not from the passing out of those we love. Only to keep the Law, observe I the mourning rites. Yet in my quiet do I think."

"Scarce four days is our brother dead and thou art at thy old habit of thinking. Wilt thou never learn thinking is not to tax a woman's time? Wouldst thou take from men their rights?"

"Methinks thinking is proper for whoever hath power to think. Why shouldst not a woman think if by so doing she can find answer to some question that doth perplex her heart?"

"Thou dost ever make thy way seem right because of fair speech. But of thy thinking what cometh? Here hast thou sat thinking by the couch of him who lieth in the tomb. Hast thou thought anything that is of service?"

"Whether it is of service I know not. But of my thinking doth it come to me that it is not wisdom to seal the dead in tombs when the breath hath scarce left the body. They carried our brother to the garden and laid him on fresh earth as is done with things unclean. There did they trim his beard and cut his nails and wrap him. And before the sun went down he was put in the tomb behind a great stone that scarce a score of men could roll aside."

"Much thinking and much grieving doth make thee foolish. Know you not that the Jew wanteth not corruption in the house after the sunset? Even the air were not enough to hold the evil spirits that would come of it."

"The Jew hath strange ideas about evil spirits and greatly fears something he knoweth not of. Thus doth fear early seal the dead in the tomb—and perhaps they are not dead."

"Thou speakest strangely, as if thy trouble hath gone to thy head."

"Fear not for my head, Martha, since from thy lips did I hear the strange tale that did give rise to my thinking. Didst thou not tell of a kinsman of Joel who put his wife in a new tomb and sealed the door with a great stone? And what was it that did leap into their arms when, after three years, they rolled the stone away? Was it not the bones of the woman who had been buried alive? And had she not stood with her lips against the stone crying for help until she starved? Aye, and she stood on, waiting for those to come who should learn from her bones what her lips had prayed to tell. Didst thou not repeat me this, my Martha, even to the screams of those into whose arms the woman's bones did fall?"

"Thou sayest truly. But save this one, my ears have not heard so gruesome a tale."

"What might happen once, might come to pass again. Who knoweth if there might not be others—who knoweth?"

"Did not the physician say Lazarus is dead?"

"Yea, the physician."

"And the Rabbi?"

"Yea, the Rabbi."

"And did not the chief mourners whose business is ever with the dead, speak him dead?"

"Yea, the chief mourners."

"Then why inviteth thou misery to thy heart? God of our fathers, Mary!
After these days our brother stinketh! Wouldst thou court the woes of
corruption by opening the tomb? Arise! Wrap thy veil over thy face.
The mourners will soon be coming."

"Nay, I go not. Even before the Master's teaching brought me wisdom did my heart oft question the gain of lamentation and disfigurement, the soiling of the hair with ashes and the itching of the flesh with sackcloth. What is the use to turn beds upside down, to shut the sunshine out with black and give voice to naught but howls and wails? Bringeth this back the dead?"

"Thou art queer at times. Wouldst thou do away with our ancient customs? Since the days when David did wail in sackcloth for his son, hath Israel so done."

"If there be not reason in customs, wherefore hold to them? Is it forbidden the Jew to gain wisdom in a thousand years, or must we ever follow custom for no other reason save that we follow? Dost thou not believe in the resurrection as the Master teacheth?"

"I believe my brother shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day."

"Then why much fruitless mourning? Oft to my mind come the words of the Master. In the quiet of the garden did he tell me of the time his father Joseph fell asleep in death, and his words to his mother bore her up with comfort. When I am alone, in my heart, I try to seem as the mother of Jesus in her trouble, and take to myself his words to her. Aye, Martha, if the Master had been here what comfort would have been ours. Didst not thy heart call for him?"

"I did wish for him, yea. But forgettest thou the kindness of Joel?"

"I had no Joel—but listen, Martha. Afar I hear the sound of mourning."

"It is our mourners coming round the hill from Jerusalem," Martha said after listening a moment. "Many friends and a fat purse getteth much mourning. Wilt come?"

"Nay, I like not hired mourning. It seemeth but noise. Here I will stay and let my tears drop where they will not be counted by the passer-by."

The sound of flutes and wailing voices, which before had seemed far away, came nearer. Martha drew her veil across her head as she turned in the door. "I go to join the mourners at my brother's tomb. When thy friends ask of thee, what reason shall I give?"

"Tell them weariness hath overtaken me and I would be alone."

"Is there none thou wouldst see?"

"Nay, not one," Mary answered softly.

As Martha passed down the steps the sound of the mourners came from in front of the door. A moment they paused, then went wailing on to the tomb.

"I am alone," Mary sobbed as quiet again fell over the room. "Martha hath Joel and when the mother of Jesus did pass through the Valley of Separation, did she have him whom my soul loveth? Oh, that I might have felt the pressure of his strong hands around mine when the fingers of my brother grew cold and weak! Oh, that I might have heard his voice speaking sweetest comfort when the voice of my brother was hushed in death! Oh, that Jesus had been here! And my heart is sore because he came not. Urgent was the message and swift delivered, yet have two days passed and he tarrieth yet in Peraea while my heart doth break with loneliness!" and she threw herself down beside the couch.

She had lain but a moment when Martha from the outside called, "Mary!
Mary!" There was no response from the quiet room. "Mary! Mary!
Mary!" shouted Martha joyfully, just outside the door.

Mary arose in haste. What had come over Martha who had only now left to go mourning?

"Mary—Mary!" and in her eagerness Martha forgot that the room of
Lazarus was yet defiled and ran across its threshold crying, "The
Master hath come!"

"The Master hath come?" Mary exclaimed, springing toward her sister.

"Yea, yea! The Master hath come and calleth for thee!"

"For me—he calleth for me?" and Mary's voice was vibrant with new life.

"Yea, for thee. Aye, not even of Lazarus whom he loveth did the Master make inquiry, but taking me aside did he ask of 'Mary,' and biddeth me hurry to call. Hasten thou? The Master waiteth!"

Transfixed with joy for the moment, Mary folded her hands and lifted a shining face heavenward, saying again, "The Master hath come and calleth for me—for me—for me!" Then she caught up a veil and followed Martha hurriedly from the room.