Out of the Triangle Part 10

"I will leave it in the care of my kinsmen," she replied.

"It may never be thine again," warned the messenger.

"Hear me, O Christian!", cried the mother pa.s.sionately "I know not the Christians' G.o.d, but the Emperor Severus shall not take away my sons! I care not if he takes my home!"

"Come then with us," answered the messenger. "I trust thee! May the Christian's G.o.d cause thee to know Him!"

That day there pa.s.sed through Alexandria's streets a chariot drawn by two mules. Seated in the chariot a lady and a child rode in state. The charioteer was only a small lad.

Out of the city by the eastern gate, as they had pa.s.sed so many times before, Cocce and her mother rode. Who would hinder so devout wors.h.i.+pers of the G.o.ds from taking a pleasure drive? Alexandria knew nothing yet of Heraklas' defection.

When Alexandria was some distance behind, the lady spoke.

"Stop the chariot," she commanded.

The young lad obeyed. The woman and child descended to the road.

"I would walk," said the woman. "Drive thou home again, and say thou naught. See, here is something for thee."

She gave him some money.

The lad did as he was bidden. The mother of Heraklas had known whom to choose for her charioteer this day.

The chariot receded. It pa.s.sed out of sight. A distance away from the road, a man rose and beckoned. It was the messenger of the morning, disguised, as a beggar.

They went northerly toward the sea. The mother's straining eyes looked ever forward. How if the Christians had been discovered! How long the way was!

A faintness seized upon her as they neared the sea. What if her sons were not there? She hurried forward.

The sea splashed on the rocks at her feet. The salt splay blew in her face. They were not here! They were not here!

Out of the recesses of the rocks, some forms arose, and Heraklas, as in a dream, saw his mother, his proud mother--she who had burned incense to the sun, she who had once held the sacred sistrum in Amun's temple, she who had taught him to wors.h.i.+p Isis, and Osiris, and Horus, and the River Nile--his mother throw her arms about Timokles, and kiss his scarred cheek, and sob on the young Christian's neck, "O my son, I have missed thee so! I have missed thee so!"

Some ten months later, on the desolate, uninhabited western sh.o.r.e of what the Hebrews called "Yam Suph, the Sea of Weeds," known now as the Red Sea, in the country spoken of by the Romans as part of Ethiopia, now named Nubia, a little company of Christians made ready their evening meal.

Down on the sh.o.r.e a little girl sang. Her voice rose exultantly in a hymn of the early Christians:

"Blessed art thou, O Lord; teach me thy judgments.

"O Lord, thou hast been a refuge for us from generation to generation.

"Thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us.

"Thou hast healed my soul in that I have sinned against thee."

"O Lord, to thee I flee for refuge. Teach me to do thy will Because thou art my G.o.d; Because thou art the fountain of life In thy light shall we see light. Extend thy mercy to them that know thee."

Timokles went toward the sh.o.r.e to call Cocce. As he returned, he saw his mother standing a little apart from the other Christians and gazing toward the northwest, in the direction of Egypt, as she had often gazed since the Christians took refuge here.

"She misseth her home," thought the young man sadly. "It is but a rough abiding-place here for her. And yet Severus hath not found us.

I would that she had come here for the love of Christ, and not for love of her two sons, only! Then she would feel, as the others of us do, that there is no one who hath left house or lands for our Lord's sake, but receiveth a hundred-fold in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting. Oh, I would that my mother might know how near our Lord can be, even in this desert!"

His mother had ceased to speak of Egypt's G.o.ds. She had even read somewhat in the Christians' Book. But to Timokles she seemed no nearer to accepting Christ than when she was in Alexandria. How little we know of the heart-experiences of those persons nearest to us!

Timokles drew nearer. His mother heard his step, and turned toward him, but in place of the homesick longing he had expected to see in her eyes, there was a look that thrilled his soul.

"What is it, my mother?" he asked, gently.

"Timokles," she answered softly, "I was thinking but now of Alexandria and of our dear home there. Timokles, if G.o.d had not driven me into the desert, would I ever have found him?"

Timokles trembled with exceeding joy. Could she be speaking of the real G.o.d, not of Egypt's idols?

"Hast thou found Him--the Christian's G.o.d--my mother?" he asked tremulously.

A holy awe looked from his mother's face.

"Did not his Son say, 'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out'?" she answered. "I have come to him, Timokles--even I, the former wors.h.i.+per of Isis--and he hath not cast me out."

"O my mother!" murmured Timokles, overcome by the glad tidings.

"What more can I ask of him than this!"

The sun sank, and Heraklas raised for the little company the evening hymn of the early church. His mother's voice rose clear and sweet, as all sang:

"Children, praise the Lord, Praise ye the name of the Lord. We praise thee, we hymn thee, we bless thee, Because of the greatness of thy glory. O Lord the King, the Father of Christ, Of the spotless Lamb who taketh away The sin of the world, To thee belongeth praise, To thee belongeth song, To thee belongeth glory, to the G.o.d And Father, through the Son, in the Spirit, To the Most Holy, unto ages of ages. Amen."

However long their exile might be, whatever privations they might suffer in this desert place, the little company could sing their praises with grat.i.tude, for now not one voice of their number would be silent. Here they would abide, telling of Christ to every heathen wanderer whom they could seek out in these wilds. And if it should please G.o.d that henceforth Egypt might never hold a home for them, yet they could dwell in the deserts beyond Rome's dominion, knowing that He who when on earth had no place to lay his head would be with them. He had delivered the last one of the little company from the snare of false G.o.ds.

THE SQUASH OF THE ESVIDOS.

Black dog slipped through a swinging gate and Miss Elizabeth followed him into an olive, orchard of small dimensions. The family to whom the black dog belonged was there. The father, Bernardo Esvido, stood on a step-ladder, picking black olives into a bucket half filled with water, the bucket being fastened to Mr. Esvido's waist so that he might use both hands, while the water in the bucket prevented the ripe olives from being bruised. He who picks ripe olives into a hard bucket knows not his business.

Beneath another olive tree sat the mother, the daughter, and the son, was.h.i.+ng olives in a water-trough. The small black dog raised his voice, and did his best to inform the Esvidos that a stranger eyed their olive-was.h.i.+ng.

"You read Portuguese?" asked Miss Elizabeth, smiling on the busy group. Miss Elizabeth was not a book-agent, but, moved by the religious dest.i.tution of the Portuguese, she had devised the plan of buying at some city book-store Bibles or Testaments in Portuguese, and then going into the surrounding country and hunting for Portuguese who could read. To such, on account of their poverty, Miss Elizabeth often sold for ten cents a Bible she had bought for forty or sixty cents. She would gladly have given the Bibles free, but from observation she had become persuaded that those Portuguese who paid a few cents for a Bile were much more likely to read it than were those to whom one was given for nothing.

At Miss Elizabeth's question the united Esvido family looked at the mother. She was the one reader of the group. Many Portuguese do not read, either in English or in their own language. If a Portuguese woman reads Portuguese, her neighbors perhaps know of her accomplishment. Mr. Esvido was proud that his wife knew how to read Portuguese even if he was ignorant. None of the family could read English.

"You like buy Biblia Sagrada?" (Holy Bible) questioned Miss Elizabeth. "It is all Portuguese."

The red book was pa.s.sed to the mother, who shook olive-leaves and dust from her hands, and took up the Bible. She had dimly known that there was such a book. She remembered hearing of the Biblia Sagrada years ago, when she was a girl in Lisbon, long before she came to California; but none of her acquaintances had such a book, and she had never before to-day seen a Portuguese Bible.

But at last the book was handed back to Miss Elizabeth.

"No money," carelessly explained Mr. Esvido.