"I heard them saying, Mary, that He wept Before I woke." The words were low and shaken, Yet Mary knew that he who uttered them Was Lazarus; and that would be enough Until there should be more . . . "Who made Him come, That He should weep for me? . . . Was it you, Mary?" The questions held in his incredulous eyes Were more than she would see. She looked away; But she had felt them and should feel for ever, She thought, their cold and lonely desperation That had the bitterness of all cold things That were not cruel. "I should have wept," he said, "If I had been the Master. . . ." Now she could feel His hands above her hair -- the same black hair That once he made a jest of, praising it, While Martha's busy eyes had left their work To flash with laughing envy. Nothing of that Was to be theirs again; and such a thought Was like the flying by of a quick bird Seen through a shadowy doorway in the twilight. For now she felt his hands upon her head, Like weights of kindness: "I forgive you, Mary. . . . You did not know -- Martha could not have known -- Only the Master knew. . . . Where is He now? Yes, I remember. They came after Him. May the good God forgive Him. . . . I forgive Him. I must; and I may know only from Him The burden of all this. . . . Martha was here -- But I was not yet here. She was afraid. . . . Why did He do it, Mary? Was it -- you? Was it for you? . . . Where are the friends I saw? Yes, I remember. They all went away. I made them go away. . . . Where is He now? . . . What do I see down there? Do I see Martha -- Down by the door? . . . I must have time for this." Lazarus looked about him fearfully, And then again at Mary, who discovered Awakening apprehension in his eyes, And shivered at his feet. All she had feared Was here; and only in the slow reproach Of his forgiveness lived his gratitude. Why had he asked if it was all for her That he was here? And what had Martha meant? Why had the Master waited? What was coming To Lazarus, and to them, that had not come? What had the Master seen before He came, That He had come so late? "Where is He, Mary?" Lazarus asked again. "Where did He go?" Once more he gazed about him, and once more At Mary for an answer. "Have they found Him? Or did He go away because He wished Never to look into my eyes again? . . . That, I could understand. . . . Where is He, Mary?"