CHAPTER XXXV.
A DARK veil of grief hung over the home of Bethany. Ever since the night before, when Lazarus had returned from the Garden of Gethsemane, they had sat almost paralysed with grief and dread.
The Lord captured, the Master taken! This indeed seemed the beginning of the end; and the attempted capture of Lazarus made them fear that peace had for ever left their dwelling. The life of Jesus on earth would find its lowly echo in that of Lazarus. At any moment he might be seized, as their Lord had been, captured, taunted, condemned. There would be no safety for the future in that home; and yet they regretted nothing. They had put their shoulder to the wheel and never more would they look back, but the vista that stretched before them was dark and drear; trial, fear, trouble, death. At the end a cross, but behind the cross what glory!
Over and over again Lazarus told them of those bitter moments in Gethsemane, and their tears fell at the recital of the agony of their Lord.
Over and over again Martha murmured, with all a woman's tenderness: "To be sleeping, to be sleeping, while the Lord prayed and wept! Oh that we could be with Him!"
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