What had he to fear? What had he to live for? He had given away the last
remnant of his tribute for the King. He had parted with the last hope of
finding Him. The quest was over, and it had failed. But, even in that
thought, accepted and embraced, there was peace. It was not resignation.
It was not submission. It was something more profound and searching.
He knew that all was well, because he had done the best that he could,
from day to day. He had been true to the light that had been given to
him. He had looked for more. And if he had not found it, if a failure
was all that came out of his life, doubtless that was the best that was
possible. He had not seen the revelation of "life everlasting,
incorruptible and immortal." But he knew that even if he could live his
earthly life over again, it could not be otherwise than it had been.

One more lingering pulsation of the earthquake quivered through the
ground. A heavy tile, shaken from the roof, fell and struck the old man
on the temple. He lay breathless and pale, with his gray head resting on
the young girl's shoulder, and the blood trickling from the wound. As
she bent over him, fearing that he was dead, there came a voice through
the twilight, very small and still, like music sounding from a distance,
in which the notes are clear but the words are lost. The girl turned to
see if some one had spoken from the window above them, but she saw no
one.

Then the old man's lips began to move, as if in answer, and she heard
him say in the Parthian tongue:

"Not so, my Lord! For when saw I thee an hungered, and fed thee? Or
thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw I thee a stranger, and took thee
in? Or naked, and clothed thee? When saw I thee sick or in prison, and
came unto thee? Three-and-thirty years have I looked for thee; but I