All the others were amazingly nearer to her.  She saw the bleak Iscariot as never before, and his darkened mother emerged a step out of the gloom of ages.  The Romans moved, as upon a stage, before her, unlit battling faces, clashing voices and armor; and the bearded Jews heavily collecting and confuting.  She saw the Eleven, and nearest the light, the frail John, the brother of James,—­sad young face and ascetic pallor....  And in the night, she heard that great Voice crying in the wilderness, that mighty Forerunner, the returned Elias; next to Christ Himself, this Baptist, who leaped in the womb of the aged Elizabeth, when the Mother of the Saviour entered her house in the hill country!  This cataclysmic figure, not of the “Stations,” was dominant in the background of them all.  She saw him second to the Christ (for was he not a prophet in the elder Scripture?) in being called to the Father’s Godhood; and Saint Paul, of that nameless thorn in the flesh, following gloriously on the Rising Road!

There was a new and loving friendliness in the Marys.  She could pray to them, and wait for greater purity to image the Saviour, as they saw Him....  And one night from her fire-frame, staring down into the lurid precipices of the city, the awful question preyed upon her lips, “Are you Jews and Romans that you must have again the blood of the Christ, to show you the way to God?"...  She was weeping, and would have swooned, but something in her consciousness bade her look above.  There were the infinite worlds, immensities of time and space and evolving souls; and urging, weaving, glorifying all, was the Holy Spirit, Mystic Motherhood....  And back in the dark of her studio, she turned among creations and visions and longings.  Next morning she sat upon the floor and wept, because she could not have her child of soul, only children of clay....  Hours afterward she was fashioning a cross with her fingers, and was suddenly crushed with anguish because she had not been there to carry the cross for Him, to confront the soldiery and take the cruel burden, and hear His Voice, Whom she knew now to be the Son of God.

* * * * *

The women embraced in that rare way which is neither formal nor an affectation.  They had long liked and admired each other.

“Why, Vina,—­it has been weeks—­how did you manage to leave?”

“I haven’t done much—­for days,” Vina said, ducking from under her huge hat, and tossing it with both hands upon the piano-top.  “Not since he came up with the Grey One and spoiled my little old ideas.  Let’s have some tea?”

Beth laughed at the other, until Vina moved into the circle of light, and her face showed paler and more transparent than ever.  She sat down upon Beth’s working-stool, elbows on knees, and stared trance-like at her friend.

“Why, you dear little dreamer, what’s the matter?” Beth asked quickly.  “Who is the destructive he?”