He was horribly changed and strange, but as yet
undiscovered. In high waves, now mild, now stormy, the festivities
went on around him. Warm glances of love caressed his face, still cold
with the touch of the grave; and a friend's warm hand patted his
bluish, heavy hand. And the music played joyous tunes mingled of the
sounds of the tympanum, the pipe, the zither and the dulcimer. It was
as if bees were humming, locusts buzzing and birds singing over the
happy home of Mary and Martha.
II
Some one recklessly lifted the veil. By one breath of an uttered word
he destroyed the serene charm, and uncovered the truth in its ugly
nakedness. No thought was clearly defined in his mind, when his lips
smilingly asked: "Why do you not tell us, Lazarus, what was There?"
And all became silent, struck with the question. Only now it seemed to
have occurred to them that for three days Lazarus had been dead; and
they looked with curiosity, awaiting an answer. But Lazarus remained
silent.
"You will not tell us?" wondered the inquirer. "Is it so terrible
There?"
Again his thought lagged behind his words. Had it preceded them, he
would not have asked the question, for, at the very moment he uttered
it, his heart sank with a dread fear.
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