The City of Delight

When he awoke rested sufficiently to think, he recalled that he had

been twice stabbed by Julian of Ephesus by the marsh on the road to

Jerusalem. He had probably been carried to this place and nursed back

to life by the householder.

Then he remembered. In his search after cause for his cousin's attack

upon him, he readily fixed upon Julian's rage at the Maccabee's

preëmption of the beautiful girl in the hills. Instantly, the disgrace

of violence committed in a quarrel between himself and his cousin over

the possession of a woman, appealed to him. And even as instantly, his

defiant heart accepted its shame and persisted in its fault. It is an

extreme of love, indeed, if no circumstance however impelling raises a

regret in the heart of a man; for he flung off with a weak gesture any

chiding of conscience against cherishing his dream, and abandoned

himself wholly to his yearning for the girl in the tissue of

moonbeams.

There was a quiet step on the earth at the threshold. Joseph, the

shepherd, stood there. The two looked at each other; one with inquiry

and weakness in his face; the other with good-will and reassurance.

"Boy," said the Maccabee feebly, "I have been sick."

"Friend, I am witness to that. I am your nurse," the boy replied.

After a little silence the Maccabee extended his hand. The boy took it

with a sudden flush of emotion, but feeling its weakness, refrained

from pressing it too hard, and laid it back with great care on his

patient's breast. The Maccabee looked out at the door, away from the

full eyes of his young host.

He was touched presently, and a cup of milk was silently put to his

lips. He drank and turning himself with effort fell asleep.

When he awoke again, after many hours, it was night. In the door with

his head dropped back between his shoulders gazing up at the sky

overhead, sat the boy.

"Where," the Maccabee began, "are the rest of you?"

The boy turned around quickly, and answered with all seriousness.

"I am all here."

"Did you," the Maccabee began again, after silence, "care for me

alone?"

"There has been no one here but us," the boy said, hesitating at the

symptoms of gratitude in the Maccabee's voice.

"Us?"

"You and me."

After another silence, the Maccabee laughed weakly.

"It requires two to constitute 'us' and I am, by all signs, not a

whole one!"

"But you will be in a few days," the boy declared admiringly. "You are

an excellent sick man."

The Maccabee looked at him meditatively.

"I am merely perverse," he said darkly; "I knew it would be so much

pleasure to my murderer to know that I died, duly."

The shepherd repressed his curiosity, as the best thing for his

patient's welfare, and suggested another subject rather disjointedly.