"He is not wont to knock," said Mary, "but doth come in some God-like way we wot not of."
Then they proceeded to the gate.
A woman's figure stood there. When she saw them approaching, carrying a swinging Roman lamp, she called out: " 'T is I, the Magdalene."
"Thou, the Magdalene? And at this hour? What brings thee, Mary?" The voice of Lazarus had a strange vibration while he spoke, and his hand trembled while he tried to undo the bolt. The Magdalene's voice had been the last he had heard ere he had died, its echo had seemed to die and live again with him. Even now the peace her words had given him, the loving but despairing look, the glistening tears of love and agony; all had come back at the sound of the Magdalene's voice.
"I come once more with a message," she began, looking round tremblingly while she spoke, to see whether she was being followed. "I would come into the house and speak with you, for the enemies of the Lord are abroad to-night; 't was therefore that I came so late. Forgive me, Martha, that I disturb thy rest."
But Martha laid her hand gently on the Magdalene's shoulder, with unwonted tenderness.
"Rest, Mary?" she said. "We cannot rest while the fear of the Lord's death is ever before us."
By this time they reached the house.
"I have news that will rejoice your hearts," continued Mary Magdalene. "The Lord cometh to Bethany to-morrow."
"We will make ready for Him," broke in Martha, and already her housewifely mind flew to a dozen
