moment a farewell ray of the setting sun, piercing the dark mass of clouds, threw a refection upon the Calvary, vivid as a conflagration’s glare.  The Jew rested his forehead upon his hand.  His long hair, shaken by the evening breeze, fell over his pale face—­when sweeping it back from his brow, he started with surprise—­he, who had long ceased to wonder at anything.  With eager glance he contemplated the long lock of hair that he held between his fingers.  That hair, until now black as night, had become gray.  He also, like unto Herodias, was growing older.

His progress towards old age, stopped for eighteen hundred years, had resumed its course.  Like the Wandering Jewess, he might henceforth hope for the rest of the grave.  Throwing himself on his knees, he stretched his hands towards heaven, to ask for the explanation of the mystery which filled him with hope.  Then, for the first time, his eyes rested on the Crucified One, looking down upon the Calvary, even as the Wandering Jewess had fixed her gaze on the granite eyelids of the Blessed Martyr.

The Saviour, his head bowed under the weight of his crown of thorns, seemed from the cross to view with pity, and pardon the artisan, who for so many centuries had felt his curse—­and who, kneeling, with his body thrown backward in an attitude of fear and supplication, now lifted towards the crucifix his imploring hands.

“Oh, Messiah!” cried the Jew, “the avenging arm of heaven brings me back to the foot of this heavy cross, which thou didst bear, when, stopping at the door of my poor dwelling, thou wert repulsed with merciless harshness, and I said unto thee:  ’Go on! go on!’—­After my long life of wanderings, I am again before this cross, and my hair begins to whiten.  Oh Lord! in thy divine mercy, hast thou at length pardoned me?  Have I reached the term of my endless march?  Will thy celestial clemency grant me at length the repose of the sepulchre, which, until now, alas! has ever fled before me?—­Oh! if thy mercy should descend upon me, let it fall likewise upon that woman, whose woes are equal to mine own!  Protect also the last descendants of my race!  What will be their fate?  Already, Lord, one of them—­the only one that misfortune had perverted—­has perished from the face of the earth.  Is it for this that my hair grows gray?  Will my crime only be expiated when there no longer remains in this world one member of our accursed race?  Or does this proof of thy powerful goodness, Lord, which restores me to the condition of humanity, serve also as a sign of the pardon and happiness of my family?  Will they at length triumph over the perils which beset them?  Will they, accomplishing the good which their ancestor designed for his fellow creatures, merit forgiveness both for themselves and me?  Or will they, inexorably condemned as the accursed scions of an accursed stock, expiate the original stain of my detested crime?

“Oh, tell me—­tell me, gracious Lord! shall I be forgiven with them, or will they be punished with me?”