e life of Artaban had passed away, and he
was still a pilgrim, and a seeker after light. His hair, once darker
than the cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow that
covered them. His eyes, that once flashed like flames of fire, were
dull as embers smouldering among the ashes.

Worn and weary and ready to die, but still looking for the King, he had
come for the last time to Jerusalem. He had often visited the holy city
before, and had searched through all its lanes and crowded hovels and
black prisons without finding any trace of the family of Nazarenes who
had fled from Bethlehem long ago. But now it seemed as if he must make
one more effort, and something whispered in his heart that, at last, he
might succeed.

It was the season of the Passover. The city was thronged with
strangers. The children of Israel, scattered in far lands all over the
world, had returned to the Temple for the great feast, and there had
been a confusion of tongues in the narrow streets for many days.

But on this day there was a singular agitation visible in the
multitude. The sky was veiled with a portentous gloom, and currents of
excitement seemed to flash through the crowd like the thrill which
shakes the forest on the eve of a storm. A secret tide was sweeping
them all one way. The clatter of sandals, and the soft, thick sound of
thousands of bare feet shuffling over the stones, flowed unceasingly
along the street that leads to the Damascus gate.

Artaban joined company with a group of people from his own country,
Parthian Jews who had come up to keep the Passover, and inquired of
them the cause of the tumult, and where they were going.

"We are going," they answered, "to the place called Golgotha, outside
the city walls, where there is to be an execution. Have you not heard
what has happened? Two famous robbers are to be crucified, and with
them another, called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many
wonderful works among the people, so that they love him greatly. But
the priests and elders have said that he must die, because he gave
himself out to be the Son of God. And Pilate has sent him to the cross
because he said that he was the 'King of the Jews.'"

How strangely these familiar words fell upon the tired heart of
Artaban! They had led him for a lifetime over land and sea. And now
they came to him darkly and mysteriously like a message of despair. The
King had arisen, but He had been denied and cast out. He was about