In constant apprehension of the death of their dear Lord, the followers of Christ were ever ready to scent danger, ever steeling themselves for the dreadful moment when their Saviour would be taken from them. He had warned them, in His tenderness, that the support and comfort of His presence, the sweet companionship, would not last forever. Yes, all this they knew, but the agony of separation had yet to come. The sight of the suffering of their Beloved One was soon to wring their hearts, and, as love grew stronger, their coming grief became more sure. Each unwonted sound brought terror to their hearts.
The two listened.
"'T is some message from Caiaphas or Pontius Pilate; or, perchance a fire hath broken out in some ruler's house," the Magdalene suggested to reassure the Virgin's heart.
"Peace! cheat me not," replied the Virgin sternly; "they halt at this very door. They think to find Him here, but His hour is not yet come."
The horses drew up at the door, and one could hear them pawing the ground, and a man's voice giving orders. Farther down the street some dogs began to bark.
The Virgin rose and stood with mild dignity in the chamber, hard by the door. Half fearful, yet half eager, the Magdalene pressed behind her, her long tresses falling almost to the ground.
A loud, hasty knock, and the door was opened. At sight of the Virgin, standing ethereal and lovely in her beautiful simplicity, faintly outlined by the streaks of early dawn, now striving to get the better of the waning moon, the soldier started.
