the creature.  He was not able to say, as said Carlyle in these later days, “A divine decree or eternal regulation of the universe there verily is, in regard to every conceivable procedure and affair of man; faithfully following this, said procedure or affair will prosper....  Not following this,... destruction and wreck are certain for every affair.”  And what could be better?  Divine love, not divine wrath, over all!  Yusuf had an idea of divine wrath, but he failed to see—­because the presentation of the never-failing Fatherhood of God had not yet come—­the infinite love that makes Jesus all in all to us, heaven wherever he is, and hell wherever he is not.

Since leaving Persia, this was the first definite opportunity he had had of listening to Bible truth.

“Kedar knows more of this than his father,” explained Musa. “’Tis his mother who teaches him.  She was a Jewess, of the people of Jesus of Nazareth, but I fear this roving life has caused my poor Lois to forget much of the teaching of her people.”

“You speak of Jesus of Nazareth.  I have heard something of him.  Tell me more.”

Musa shook his head slowly.  “I know nothing,” he said.  “But I shall call Lois.  The men have all gone from the tent, and mayhap she can tell what you want.”

So saying, he entered the women’s apartment, and sent his wife to Yusuf.

“You wish to know of Jesus of Nazareth?” she said.  “Alas, I am but a poor teacher.  I am unworthy even to speak his name.  I married when but a child, and since then I have wandered far from him, for there have been few to teach me.  Yet I know that he was in very truth the Son of God.  He was all-good.  He healed the sick on this earth, and forgave sin.  Then, woe, woe to me!—­he was crucified,—­crucified by my people!  And he went up to heaven; his disciples saw him go up in the white clouds of a bright day.”

“Where dwells he now?  Is he one of the spirits of the stars?”

“I know not.  He is in heaven.”

“And does he stoop to take notice of us, the children of earth?”

“Alas, I know not!  There was once a time when Jesus was more than a name to me.  When I knelt, a child, beside my mother on the grassy hills of Hebron, it seemed that Jesus was, in some vague way, a reality to me; but long years of forgetfulness have passed since then.  Stranger, I wish you well.  Your words have brought back to me the desire to know more of him.  If you learn aught of him, and it ever lies in your way to do so, come and tell us,—­my Musa and me,—­that we too may learn of him.”

Rising to her feet, the woman saluted the Persian and left him.  Musa entered to conduct him to the rugs set apart for his couch, and soon all was silent about the encampment.

But ere he fell asleep, Yusuf went out into the moonlight.  The night was filled with the peculiar lightness of an Oriental night.  The moon blazed down like a globe of molten silver, and a few large stars glowed with scarcely secondary brilliance.  In the silvery brightness he could easily read the manuscript given him by the Jew.  It was the story of the man with the withered hand, whose infirmity was healed by Jesus in the synagogue.  And there, in the starlight, the priest bowed his head, and a throng of pent-up emotions throbbed in his breast.