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 curiosity and no little indignation. For this is Mary Magdalen, whom all the city knows, and who all the city would say is here strangely out of place. Yet here she stands, her gaze riveted on the Speaker yonder.

An hour ago she was passing this way, and, attracted by the crowd, drew near to see Him who had just raised to life the widow's son. And now she stands, swaying with the throng, heeding nothing but Him, impatient only when some movement in front hides Him from her sight.

His sermon ended, He goes away, and the crowd breaks up. Yet, still, she stands there, gazing after Him. She had darted forward as if to follow Him, but looking down upon her dress came back with a sigh. She watches now till He is out of sight, then, drawing her veil over her face, hastens home.

Some hours later Simon, the Pharisee, is dining with a party of friends in a room that opens into a courtyard. Handsome lamps, couches with rich cushions for the head and arms, tables laden with choice wines, figs, grapes, pomegranates—all show a wealthy home. Near the tables, which form three sides of a square, are placed the low couches on which the guests recline, their feet stretching back from the tables.

Among those present is Jesus of Nazareth, whose Name since the miracle of Nain is in every mouth. Simon has invited Him, but has not thought it necessary to show Him any further courtesy. He is only a carpenter and will not expect it. So no water was offered Him for His feet when He came in. There was no kiss of welcome from His host, and He took His place, not on the couches reserved for "the worthiest," but with the less distinguished guests.

The meal is nearly over when one of the rabbis pres