was characteristic of the members of this family, plucked, as it were, like brands from the burning, that they never wavered in their faith. Perhaps it was the intensity and unity of their trust that compelled the miracle that followed.
Hideous in his horrible disease, the poor old man stood gazing at the lifeless features of his son.
Then he looked at Mary, who was still kneeling by the bedside, and shaking his head sadly, he repeated: "He is, in truth, dead. He is, in truth, dead."
Then, fearing the return of the mourning friends, or perhaps that by his presence he was keeping them away, the old man, unattended and lonely, as he had come, tottered away, leaning a little more heavily than his wont upon his staff of olive wood.
"Thou and I, thou and I," he muttered. Then, as if to keep his faith alive by the sound of his voice, he cried out as he passed as rapidly as he could across the garden, where the crowds had taken refuge during his visit to the body of his son: "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His holy name." And here and there a voice, pitying or scoffing, according to the nature of the heart from which it emanated, cried out: "Who healeth all thy diseases! Why then hath He not healed thine?" Again: "Thou art grateful for little, poor Simon." Then, as if given a sudden inspiration of conviction, Simon turned round on the scoffing crowd, and, with a mighty voice, cried out: "My son will yet rise again."
And while the Jews questioned among themselves "What meaneth he? Now or at the resurrection?" the poor old man took his solitary way down the
