low voice, all the gladness of that bright reality and her true love ringing in her answer.
She was close now to the dark, veiled woman who faced her. The two stood on the pathway, unable to distinguish one another's faces, barely the outline of each other's figures; only their voices and the faint rustle of their clinging garments proving the presence of two human beings in that solitary spot.
"Dost know that I, too, loved Lazarus, whom thou hast filched from me?" asked Rebekah fiercely.
"Alas! I know that thou dost love him, and I grieve for thee, fair maiden," replied the Magdalene. "But thou wouldst not grudge the poor, sinning, penitent Magdalene one little ray of joy in her sad life. I have loved Lazarus dearly for many years; yet it never seemed to me that I, the harlot, should have such joy as to wed Lazarus; and it never could have been, but that the Lord forgave me and washed me from my sins."
"Thou shalt not wed Lazarus," cried out Rebekah, raising her hand as if to strike the Magdalene. "I tell thee thou shalt not, thou shalt not; I will not have it."
"Believe me, maiden, I feel much for your grief; but, if I wed not Lazarus, he will not wed another; why then be jealous of one so lowly as thy servant Mary?"
"I will not have thy pity," cried Rebekah, beyond herself. "Who art thou to dare to pity the High Priest's daughter? Thou sinning harlot, who wert derided of all men and women, till this half-mad Nazarene appeared and made a pastime of the
