He made as if to speak, then restrained himself. Holding to his own opinion, he nevertheless did not wish to contradict her, to oppress her with argument or reassert his will. His feeling towards her was too sweet, his assuagement too complete. He merely said, with what for him was unaccustomed mildness:
"Tomorrow I will rise up betimes. I will speak to your worthy Joseph, reason with him kindly, persuade him… you will see."
She realized that he had caught only a glimmer of what, so clearly for her, was a celestial light, that while he marveled at the mystery, still could view it only on a natural plane. Yet in the happiness of her reconciliation she was content to hold her peace. And in peace they fell asleep.
But indeed, when morning came Elah, the first to awake, remained intent upon his purpose. He roused Seraia, bade her dress quickly and come with him downstairs. She smiled at his tone of urgency but made it her pleasure to humour him. Avoiding the kitchen, when the maids were already stirring, they went by the side passage to the back premises. The sun was rising and the walls and the roofs of Bethlehem, outlined against the dappled sky, were caught by the blush of dawn. The air struck cool and fresh, and already wild doves were circling above the olive groves which lay on the slopes beyond. Elah had taken his wife by the arm as they made their way across the courtyard. Although she knew in advance what they must find, Seraia, hoping against hope, could feel her heart beating painfully as Elah knocked, then threw open the stable door.
Yes, they had gone. Except for the ox and the ass, the little hut was empty. Slowly the innkeeper entered, followed by his wife, glancing around in his disappointment, as though searching for something, a trace of its occupants, that might still remain. The place had been neatly tidied, the floor cleared of straw and carefully swept, everything indeed restored to an order better than before. In the air there faintly lingered the mingled aromatic odours of myrrh and frankincense and, on the edge of the manger where the Child had lain, there had been left a piece of gold.
"You see," Seraia could not resist the quiet rebuke, "Mary has made payment for her lodging."
Elah coloured deeply: the gold indeed would have settled tenfold the reckoning for his best room. He picked up the precious metal, which was not a coin but an oddly fashioned piece, bearing still, no doubt, the shape in which it had come from the mine or from some distant river bed. For a long moment he studied it in silence then, strange in one usually so covetous, he handed it to his wife.
"Take it… it is yours."
Seraia took the piece. She, too, noted with surprise its singular outline. It had the rough form of a cross.
"And now," Elah braced himself, "there is much for me to do. I pray you leave me till it is done." With his head erect he swung round and went before her towards the inn.
Back in her room Seraia stood for a while in anxious speculation. Would Elah carry through his resolution to send Malthace and her brother away? How often in the past had he expressed his good intentions and failed in the end to carry them out. She knew his inconstant nature, knew too that such weakness was not cured overnight. Yet this time she was hopeful, yes, she fully believed that his effort to redeem himself would succeed. A wave of happiness surged over her. Mindful of a fine filigree chain which at her betrothal, years before, Elah had given her, she sought it, found it finally in a forgotten casket laid away in a drawer. Then, threading her little cross upon the chain, she placed it around her neck.
The ordinary day of the inn was beginning - the cooking pots bubbling in the kitchen, guests moving in the passages, shouting and clattering over the cobblestones of the courtyard. Had these days of wonder ever been? All might have seemed a dream but for the cross that lay upon her breast. Yet for Seraia it was no dream. In her mind’s eye she saw the little family moving bravely on… Mary, Joseph, and the Child… ever advancing on their predetermined path, suffering hardship and persecution, fulfilling their heavenly destiny. Tears moistened her eyes as she remembered the indescribable happiness of holding the Babe in her arms. He shall be great, she thought… and it was I who saw and held Him on the day that He was born. Would others, now or in the future, ever feel the sweetness of that blessed day? She could not tell but, fingering the cross, she vowed: every year, as long as I live, though I am the only one in all the world to do so, I shall keep the birthday of this Child, and keeping it, I shall know happiness. Then, softly to herself, as though treasuring it, she murmured that name which Mary had told her they would give Him.
THE END
First published in 1958 by Hearst Publishing Co, Inc.