"We cannot, cannot let Him die." the Magdalene sobbed.
"We cannot leave Him to die alone," said Lazarus. And, all the while, they saw not that the Virgin, in silent grief—for her senses had returned—was searching for a covering for her head and was about to sally forth alone. Her Son, her God to die alone? Never! not if ten thousand swords should oppose her progress to the cross. The loving heart that had effaced itself for thirty years, to let the course of God's will run on untrammelled, would not rebel against the Lord's decree; but no law, either of Jew or Roman, could deny a mother the exquisite agony of seeing her son die.
Since He had been a little child, He had never wanted her, but the link, however mysterious, had been there; the link between the human mother and the divine Son. As an infant, although God, He had stretched out His arms to her, and hers had been ever ready; they would be ready now, outstretched to Him, that He might know that human tenderness was there, side by side with divine submission. Perchance, He might have a message; or to those tortured limbs she might bring some slight relief; at least, when dead, that beauteous head should find no harder resting-place than the Virgin's knee.
"She goeth to Him; we must go too," said Mary. And, silently, they followed the mother of the Lord, whose grief was greater even than theirs; and, while they walked, the Magdalene spoke in low, sweet tones to Lazarus: "Scourged by the hands of Pontius Pilate! But 't was said he sought to save the Lord."
