longed to know, would grant the Magdalene's request, though theirs he had refused, the sisters waited, leaning against the wall.
"I know nothing at all, nor ever left this earth. Dost not remember, Mary, how I met thee in the olive groves?"
"And was it really thou? Methought after that, perhaps, it was but a vision or a dream. Thou didst give me a message which I took faithfully."
But Lazarus made no answer; his eyes were raised to heaven, and his lips moved as if in prayer. "I have asked whether I may tell thee what befell me," he said at last, "and methinks I may for the glory of God. Surely if I die, who will testify of these things, if I speak not? And do thou Magdalene write. Thy father was a scribe, and thou too hast the art. Bring hither thy pen and write what I shall say, that future generations may know what befell Lazarus for God's glory."
In the stillness of the night, with the dim lamp throwing giant shadows on the wall, and barely lighting up their features, the three women half sat, half reclined, upon the carpets that covered the wide Roman hall, their eyes wide open with expectant wonder, listening while the Magdalene wrote a scroll that, later, would be destroyed; so that tradition only would echo on the wonders told that night by Lazarus.
"There was but one moment when—thy song ceased, Magdalene—when my faint heart did fail me. It was but the failing of the flesh, the sudden suffocation when the heart doth cease to beat. Then I awoke, as it seemed, from sleep, feeling light
