In full vestments of the Sanhedrin, Joseph of Arimathea stood beside the moonlit pool in the garden of Lazarus. The hand-washing and hymn-singing and feasting on roast lamb in bitter sauce, was over for another twelvemonth. With a glance prophetic, Joseph looked into this new year and shook his head saying slowly, "The signs are full of portent. Darkness doth seem to gather over Israel."

"Thy heart hath a burden?" Lazarus asked, coming from the house.

The patriarch lifted his face to the young man. For a moment there was no answer. The voice of Joseph was grave when he said, "Yea, more than a burden doth lie on my heart. Fear hath clutched it and while my lips made merry at the feast I did suffer, knowing the young man's life is in danger—aye, the life of Jesus. Doth not thy heart feel it? And the heart of thy sister Mary, doth not her heart suffer the torture of fear?"

"Perchance it is weariness that Mary suffereth. The feast maketh much labor."

"As we did sing the Pascal hymn, lo, did the lips of Mary shape a prayer. Twice did tears, which she did try to hide, drop from her cheek, and thrice did she choke in the throat. Is this weariness?"

"She was disappointed. The heart of Mary did want the Master by her side, but it had seemed good to him to eat the Passover with his disciples in the city."

"Disappointment? Would to God it were no more. But, Lazarus, when the alabaster vase of thy sister was broken, then was her heart broken also and as the rich perfume was spilled, so was hope spilled from her heart because of the saying of the Master that she had anointed him for burial. Aye, Lazarus, the signs are full of portent."

"Where is thy sister Mary?" Lazarus asked of Martha who had joined them by the pool.

"She is in the house bending over the Scriptures. Yet her heart doth not go out to the songs of David. A burden she would hide."

"Knoweth she aught of Jesus?" Joseph asked.

"I know not. Until the cock crew she was in the garden with him yester evening. And in the night as she lay beside me in her bed, methought I heard a moan that traveled not far from the heart where it was born. Mary lay awake and I did question her. 'It is but the tamarask leaves against the casement,' she said. Again I heard a sob quickly smothered. When I did speak, and bid Mary listen, she declared it naught but the night wind lifting the pomegranate branches. When morning cometh, from her carved chest she took her alabaster box of very precious ointment which she did cherish to make sweet her wedding veil. Her face was glad as if she had been a bride and joyous her words as she said, 'Lo, the darkness is gone! In the night, fear of shadows and losses trouble me, but with the morning cometh light. Look thou! Was ever a sun so golden? I go to Simon's to the feast. One there is among the guests who is a King. Yea, Martha, by the words of his own mouth he is my King—mine, my sister. Thus, after the manner of the feast, the guest of honor I will anoint with my oil of roses and iris, because so soon he goeth on a long journey.'"

"Ever will my heart be glad to think on the joy of her face," Lazarus said, "as she did break the seal and scatter the first drops of her perfume on his hair."

"Did ever such fragrance make thy breathing glad?" Martha asked with smiling face. "Like the balm of Gilead, like forests of frankincense, it filled the room. Was it not even so, Father Joseph?"

"Great was the fragrance and precious the joy on thy sister's face.
But straightway my pleasure was turned away by the words of Judas."

"Yea, great concern doth he show for the poor!" And there was indignation in the voice of Lazarus. "'Here is great waste,' said he. 'Are not two hundred dinars sufficient to buy bread for a thousand?'"

"And, Lazarus," Joseph said, "with the words of Judas did the first shadow fall across thy sister's face. Faint it was, yet not too faint for his eye who loveth her. And he said, 'Why trouble you the woman? She hath wrought a good work. The poor ye have always with you. But me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she doeth it for my burial.' Aye, Lazarus, aye, Martha, that I might forget thy sister's face as these words did pass his lips. It turned white as the alabaster in her hand. Stillness fell on the company about the table like that of the tomb. And then the sob! Lazarus, that sob did wound my heart. Then did thy sister drop at the feet of Jesus and there spill out her fragrant oil. And on the oil her tears fell, even like rain fell they, and bending low her cheek did press his foot. And then she dried away the tears with the tresses of her hair—sobbing—sobbing—sobbing! Sobs are a part of life, the sobs of women and children. But this woman—aye, greater love hath never woman known than this which Mary beareth the brave young Rabbi."

"And hath man e'er given back to woman greater love than he beareth her? Saw thou his face as she did sob at his feet? Did thou catch the message he did speak to comfort the heart of Mary? In a voice that did mean more than words, both to the woman and him who had condemned her spoke he saying, 'Truly, truly say I unto you, wheresoever this message that I bring shall be preached, there also what this woman hath done shall be told for a memorial of her.' Joseph—friend Joseph, meaneth it not much to her heart, meaneth it not much to this household, that wherever the name of Jesus shall be spoken there also shall be known the name of Mary?"

"And if he is King," Martha exclaimed, "King of the Jews, then shall her name be exalted above that of all women."

"And if he is condemned on some false charge and given to the cross, Martha? But no, that can never be," and Lazarus ceased speaking abruptly.

"Neither can a throne give nor a cross take away a woman's crown when he who is her king doth crown her with his love. So it is that the alabaster vase which hath poured out fragrance from its fragments, shall shed its perfume down the ages so long as love is of life a part." It was Joseph who spoke.

"Lazarus doth utter strange, yea, evil words about a cross and a malefactor. What meaneth it?" Martha asked him.

"Knowest thou not, woman, how the plot doth thicken that would make way with Jesus? Passed is that day when the Sanhedrin did sneer and condemn and mutter and hatch plans. Now doth it openly seek his death."

"Yet," said Lazarus, "he hath been threatened before and hath escaped, even though they took up stones against him. Plans have we made for a long journey, yea, even to Rome will he journey and under the throne of Caesar will he preach the Kingdom greater than that of Tiberius."

Joseph stroked his beard slowly. "There doth come a time," and his voice was low, "when fire, long smoldering, doth burst into a devouring flame. Was I not in the Sanhedrin? Did I not hear? Such fire, to the eternal undoing of Israel, doth burn in the hearts of the Sanhedrin."

"They dare not take him by day," Lazarus protested, "and by night he abideth not in Jerusalem and none knoweth his dwelling place save those his heart trusts."

"In hiding and flight lieth now his safety. Would that I might know he is secure this night."

"Mary hath said he will return to-night to Bethany," Martha told Joseph.

He raised his face to the sky saying, "The moon doth climb the heavens."

"Yet ofttimes do guests tarry over the Pascal cup until the hour grow late. Methinks he will yet come, Joseph," said Lazarus.

"So hopeth my heart. But from the silence I get no answer to my question, 'Will Israel cast off her Lord's anointed?'"

"Nay, nay. All will be well. But let us to rest, the hour is growing late," and Lazarus turned to the house.

"And Mary?" The question was asked by Joseph.

"Mary doth yet sit with her writings," Martha answered, looking in the door, "though her ear is to the roadway. When I shall enter and say, 'Mary, wilt thou go to rest?' she will answer, 'Shortly.' And lo, when I have gone, she will come into the garden and from her place at the wall watch down the hillside."