each with a widely different love; but now even their love for Lazarus was tinged with the divine reverence they had for the Nazarene.
Presently, with a burst of that living tenderness which vainly strove to give full expression to itself, the Magdalene took a vessel of ointment of spikenard of the most costly kind, that she had brought with her, and poured it over the Messiah's feet. To the careful Jew, such an offering was one for great occasions only, but to Mary it seemed but a poor expression of her devotion. As the rich fragrance was wafted on the air, filling the chamber with vague memories of hedgerows and Grecian gardens of roses, the Nazarene's eyes fell with love and gratitude on the kneeling figure at His feet. He saw, beyond the impulsive gift, the warmth of love and reverence that had dictated it. The best of everything must be her Lord's. Yet more, He saw a thought distinct. It might be that the loving Mary feared that she would not be near Him when He died, to fulfil the last earthly office, the embalming of His body. It might be that cruel soldiers would tear away the body of one she loved so much. Therefore, to-night, He should be anointed with the rarest perfumes of Judæa. With these thoughts in her mind, her tears fell in drops like rain on the holy feet; and, as they fell, she wiped them with her hair, lest they should defile the members she so reverently handled.
At the feet of the Lord; that had been ever the favourite posture of the Magdalene! Would she ever again be privileged to take it? While the disciples whispered among themselves and listened to the Nazarene, her thoughts flew back with the agony
