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 have never seen thy face, nor ministered to thee, my King.”

He ceased, and the sweet voice came again.  And again the maid heard it, very faintly and far away.  But now it seemed as though she understood the words: 

“Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me.”

A calm radiance of wonder and joy lighted the pale face of Artaban like the first ray of dawn on a snowy mountain-peak.  One long, last breath of relief exhaled gently from his lips.

His journey was ended.  His treasures were accepted.  The Other Wise Man had found the King.

THE END