oss the head had fallen limp
over the bosom, and the feet lay quiet in the roadside dust.

The child spoke. There was no answer. He went back to his shelter in
the bushes. A strange hush seemed to have fallen over the earth. With
searching eyes he now watched the long road for a sight of his mother.
When he turned his gaze for a moment from the roadway to the cactus
hedge he noticed the watching dog had drawn closer and with fierce
eagerness eyed the limp body on the cross. Fear now took possession of
the child, and he moved nearer the highway and shuddered as he noticed
that the dog moved nearer also.

When at last his mother came he buried his face in her breast and
sobbed: "His head hangs like a flower broken at the stem. He can not
lift it, and he thirsts no more for water."

"Peace be to Jael's father," the mother replied, choking back a sob,
"and peace be to thee, my brave little Jesu."

"Nay, I am not brave. I was afraid--afraid!"

"Nay, nay. My little Jesu is not afraid of a dog."

"Nay, not a dog. But after the head of Jael's father fell low,
something seemed reaching out long dark arms to gather me in--in to
Jael's father--and I feared."

The mother pressed the hand of the child in hers. Reassured by the
warm strong clasp, he smiled as his mother said, "It were but childish
fear. There is nothing by the roadside reaching dark arms out to you."

"Nay, nothing--nothing, woman," replied the child, laughing at his own
fear, "nothing save the shadow of the cross."

PART ONE

A.D.32

CHAPTER I

IN THE NET

Through the open doorway and latticed window of a peasant's hut, the
sunset colors of a Palestine sky glowed red. The only occupant of the
room was an aged woman, thin haired and bent, who moved slowly about
preparing the evening meal. She stopped beside a dingy little oven on
one end of the bed platform, and bending stiffly to the floor gathered
up a few handsful of stubble which she thrust into the fire. As the
quick flames rose under her kettle she stirred her brew muttering: "Do
not two sparrows go for a farthing and yet have we no flavor for our
sop. It was not so in the days of our fathers."

Stirring and muttering she did not notice the approach of a young girl
who had entered the room, until an armful of chaff was dropped by the
oven. With a start she, turned about.

"Sara!" she cried, "thou comest like a thief in the night. Singing
doth better become thee."