Page:The centurion's story (IA centurionsstory00macf).pdf/51

 The older of the two men stood, combing his gnarled beard with his fingers, a look of mingled doubt, misgiving and hope upon his face. The younger man's features wore a glow of joy and he spoke to the other excitedly in that harsh Galilean jargon, pointing to the napkin. I asked in the Greek tongue what he said, and he answered in the same: "The master's head-tire. You see how the two ends cross over and under the third as it lies. It was his custom. He has been in this tomb alive."

There was an exultant sob in the throat of the young man. His eyes were flashing brightness. The older man's face bore a puzzled, thoughtful expression. It seemed as though his had been the greater and more uncomforted sadness, and now hope took slower hold upon his soul, yet with each passing moment, I perceived a growing animation.

We walked out of the heavy air. All the hill was sparkling with sunshine and the roofs of the city were agleam with it. The two men, in animated conversation, after looking about them, hurried down the road to the city.

I lingered. The garden had become very dear to me.

My back was towards the empty tomb. I pondered it all, and oftenest my mind was at stand upon what the young man said about the folded napkin. How many, many times has my wife Afrania said: "No, Lucillus is not within, but he has visited his chamber since with my own hands I dressed it this morning. I know, for he cannot go in nor go out, he cannot take up or lay down a mirror nor move a perfume jar upon the table that I do not know he has been there."