His spirit throbbed and fluttered with the urgency
of the crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his divine faith for
the sake of a single deed of human love? Should he turn aside, if only
for a moment, from the following of the star, to give a cup of cold
water to a poor, perishing Hebrew?
"God of truth and purity," he prayed, "direct me in the holy path, the
way of wisdom which Thou only knowest."
Then he turned back to the sick man. Loosening the grasp of his hand,
he carried him to a little mound at the foot of the palm-tree.
He unbound the thick folds of the turban and opened the garment above
the sunken breast. He brought water from one of the small canals near
by, and moistened the sufferer's brow and mouth. He mingled a draught
of one of those simple but potent remedies which he carried always in
his girdle--for the Magians were physicians as well as astrologers--and
poured it slowly between the colorless lips. Hour after hour he labored
as only a skilful healer of disease can do; and, at last, the man's
strength returned; he sat up and looked about him.
"Who art thou?" he said, in the rude dialect of the country, "and why
hast thou sought me here to bring back my life?"
"I am Artaban the Magian, of the city of Ecbatana, and I am going to
Jerusalem in search of one who is to be born King of the Jews, a great
Prince and Deliverer of all men.
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