LAZARUS.
CHAPTER I.
THE faint red lights of Jerusalem were twinkling in the distance. The sun had vanished, leaving that strange ruddy glow behind it that, in the East, usurps the place of twilight. On the rose-pink flushings of the sky, tiny, pale yellow stars appeared at every moment, like primroses springing up on a clover field, and, with their appearance, the sky grew a greener blue, to form a fitter setting. The palm trees looked almost black against these jewel tints, and the blue olive trees grew grey, as if about to die, and everywhere was silence, except for distant croaking of frogs, or barking of wild dogs.
Alone, along the road of Jericho that led to Bethany, walked Lazarus, the youngest ruler of the Synagogue, the son of Simon the Leper.
Poetic and dreamy always, to-night he walked more wrapped in thought than usual, for his heart was full of a great unrest. One of the closest observers of the Mosaic Law, as Lazarus was, something to-day had stirred his thoughts with a clashing dissonance he could not account for. A poor Jew had been brought before Caiaphas for failing to pay
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