Thick heavy clouds obscured the starless sky, not a breath of wind was stirring, the air felt oppressively close and sultry even at the hour of midnight. A single torch was all the light which the grave-diggers dared to employ while engaged on their dangerous work. In almost perfect darkness were the remains of Hadassah and her unhappy son lowered into the dust. There was no silver moonlight streaming between the stems of the olives, as on the occasion of the martyrs' burial, nor was Zarah present to throw flowers into the open grave. With her the powers of nature had given way under the prolonged strain which they had had to endure; the poor girl lay in her desolate home, too ill to be even conscious of the removal from it of the remains over which she had watched and mourned as long as she had been capable of doing either. It was strange to Lycidas to be, as it were, only representative of Hadassah's family at the funeral of herself and her son,--he, who was not only no relative, but a foreigner in blood, and in religion an alien; but it was a privilege which he valued very highly, and which he would not have resigned to have held the chief place in the most pompous ceremonial upon earth. As soon as the displaced earth had been thrown back into the grave of Hadassah and her Abner, the night-clouds burst, and down came the long longed-for, long-desired latter rains. The parched dry sod seemed to drink in new life; the shrivelled foliage revived, all nature rejoiced in the gift from heaven. When the sun rose over the hills, water was again trickling from the stream behind the dwelling of Hadassah; the oleanders were not yet dead, they would bloom into beauty again. CHAPTER XXIX. THE MOURNER'S HOME. I shall pass lightly over the events of several succeeding months. The summer passed away, with its intense heat and its fierce simooms. Then came heavier dews by night, and temperature gradually decreased by day. The harvest was ended, but few of the inhabitants of Jerusalem had ventured to observe Pentecostal solemnities. The time for the Feast of Tabernacles arrived, but none dared raise leafy booths of palm and willow--to spend therein the week of rejoicing, according to the custom of happier years. Early in the summer Antiochus Epiphanes had quitted Judaea for Persia, to quell an insurrection which his cupidity had provoked in the latter country. The absence of the tyrant had somewhat mitigated the fierceness of the persecution against such Hebrews as sought to obey the law of Moses; but still no one dared openly to practise Jewish rites in Jerusalem, and the image of Jupiter Olympus still profaned the temple on Mount Zion.