My Dear Father:

As I was closing my last letter to you, intelligence reached my Uncle Amos that Lazarus, the amiable brother of Martha and Mary, was very ill. The message was brought by Elec, the Gibeonite slave, who, with tears in his eyes, communicated to us the sad news. My Cousin Mary and I at once set out to Bethany with him.

"Knowest thou, Elec, the disease that has so suddenly seized my cousin?" asked Mary, as we wound slowly up the path that leads around the steepest side of Olivet.

"Ah, dear me, noble lady, I know not," answered Elec, shaking his head. "He had just returned from the city, where he had been staying night and day for a week, laboring industriously to complete a copy of the five books of the blessed Moses for the Procurator's chief captain, for which he was to receive a large sum in Roman gold."

"What was the name of this captain who seeks to obtain our holy books?" I asked, hope half answering the question in my heart.

"Æmilius, the brave knight, they say, who was made a proselyte at the last Passover."

I was rejoiced to hear this proof of the steady desire of the princely Roman knight to learn our sacred laws, you may be assured, dearest father. But Elec went on speaking and said:

"It was his hard work to complete this copy which made him ill; for he slept not, nor ceased to toil until he had completed it, and when he came home with the silver-bound roll in his hand, and laid it upon the table before his sisters, he fell at the same moment fainting to the ground."

"Alas, poor Lazarus!" we both exclaimed, and urged our mules forward at a faster pace, our hearts bleeding for the sorrow of his sisters and for his sad condition.

At length, half an hour after leaving the gate of the city, we drew near to Bethany, and beheld the roof of the house of Lazarus. Upon it, watching the road towards Jerusalem for us, we discovered the graceful form of Mary. In a few moments we were in her arms, mingling our tears together.

"Does he yet live?" I asked, scarcely daring to inquire, as she led us into the house.

"Yes, lives, but fails hourly," answered Mary, with forced composure. "God bless you both for hastening to me."

At this moment Martha's pale and suffering face, beautiful even in its pallor, appeared in the door of the inner room. Upon seeing us she advanced, and taking both our hands in hers, said in a touching whisper, "You have come, sweet friends, to see my brother die!"

She then led us into the room, where lay upon a couch the form of the invalid.

"He has slept a little," said Martha softly to me, "but his fever is consuming him. He has now closed his eyes again and seems heavy, but his slumbers are restless, as you see, and he seems to think his dear friend, Jesus the Prophet, is by him; or he talks of Rachel as if she were not present."

"And who is Rachel, dear Martha?" I asked, as I was about to follow her out of the room, leaving her brother to his weary repose.

"Alas! It was for Rachel's gentle love's sake he now lies there," she answered. "There is the sweet maiden kneeling on the other side of his couch, her tearful face buried in the folds of the curtains."

I turned and regarded with tender interest the graceful and half-concealed form of the young girl as she bent over his pillow, her hand clasped by his. At this moment she looked up and directed her gaze towards me. Her face was inexpressibly lovely, bathed as it was in its glittering tear-dews, and her large, glorious eyes shone like starry heavens of tenderness and love. Her hair would have been raven black, save that rays of golden bronze enriched its waving masses with every play of the light upon it. As our eyes met, she seemed to receive me into her soul, and my heart to embrace hers. Lazarus now moved and murmured her name, when she dropped her eyes and bent like an angel over him.

"Who is this marvelously lovely maiden?" I asked of Martha, as we went into the court of the hall.

"The betrothed bride of our beloved brother," answered she. "Sit with me here in the shade beneath this vine, and I will tell thee their sad story. Lazarus, you know, dearest Adina, is a writer in the Temple, and by his labors has surrounded us all with many comforts, nay, luxuries. His attachment to us led him to forego the pleasure of all other society, as he said he found in our sweet bond of sisterly love all that he required to render him happy.

"But a few weeks ago, as he was engaged late and alone in the copying-room of the Temple upon a roll which the noble Æmilius had ordered, he was startled by the sudden entrance of a young girl in great terror, who seemed to be flying from pursuit. Upon beholding him she bounded towards him, and casting herself at his feet, implored his protection. Amazed and interested, he promptly promised it, but had hardly spoken the words before Annas entered and advanced towards her. His face was flushed with rage, and his voice was loud and fierce as he demanded her at the hand of my brother.

"'Nay, my Lord Annas,' answered Lazarus, boldly, 'were a dove to seek shelter from a hawk in my bosom I would protect it, much more a distressed maiden of the daughters of Abraham!' and he placed himself before the fugitive.

"'Darest thou protect from me? She is my child, a wicked and disobedient daughter of Belial! Resign her to me, young scrivener, or I will have thee sent to the lowest dungeon of the Castle of David!'

"'Oh, save me! save me!' cried the young girl, as Annas advanced to seize her. 'I am not his child! I am the orphan of Rabbi Levi, who left me and my estate to this false priest as a sacred charge. He would now sell me in unholy marriage to a Greek captain in the Roman legion, who offers him large bribes in gold for me. Rather than be given into the hands of this fierce and terrible Grecian, I will cast myself down from the height of the Temple!'

"And to the surprise and horror of Lazarus, she bounded from the lattice and stood upon the edge of the rock, which looks sheer three hundred feet down into the valley beneath.

"'Thou seest, O Annas, to what thy cupidity for gold will drive this maiden. Has the land of Israel sunk so low that its chief priest will sell the daughters of the land for gold to the lust of the Gentiles? Is this the way thou givest protection to orphans? Leave her, and until I find a protector for her, she shall be a sacred guest with my sisters in their humble abode!'

"'Thy life shall pay for this arrogance, young man!' answered the priest. 'I have power and will exercise it.'

"'Not to the danger and wrong of this maiden, my Lord Annas, whom Jehovah will protect, since she has trustingly sought the sheltering wing of his altars,' answered my brother firmly. 'If thou continue to persecute her, I will appeal to the Procurator, Pontius Pilate, against thee.'

"The result was," continued Martha, "that the wicked priest, alarmed by the threat of appeal to Pilate, relinquished his present purpose and left them, breathing menaces against my brother. The same day Lazarus conducted the maiden, whom you already guess to be Rachel, to our house. She has since then been our guest, and has won all our hearts, as well as our dear brother's."

"Is there no hope for him?" I asked, after listening to her touching narrative.

"None; the physicians say that he will never rise again."

"There is one hope left," I said eagerly.

"What is that?" demanded Martha.

"Jesus!" I answered. "Send to him, O Martha, and he will yet save him, and raise him up to life and health."

I had no sooner spoken than Mary, who overheard me, uttered a cry of joy.

"Yes, Jesus has the power to heal him, and Jesus loves him! He will come and save him the moment he hears of his danger."

Immediately Mary wrote on a slip of parchment these brief and touching words:

"Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick. Hasten to come to us, that he may live; for nothing is impossible with thee."

This message was forthwith despatched by the hands of a young friend to Bethabara, beyond Jordan, where we learned Jesus at present abides. We have, therefore, no hope for our dear relative but in the power of the Prophet. I will write as soon as we hear. I remain, dear father,

Your attached daughter,

Adina.