For the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. Henty George Alfred
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but I shall be sorry to see you growing staid and solemn. And it was selfish of me not to ask you to go out before, but I really did not think of it. The fishermen have been working hard, to make up for the time lost during the harvest; and I have really been useful, helping them with their nets, and this is the last year I shall have my liberty.
"But come, don't let's be wasting time in talking; run in and get my mother's permission, and then join me on the shore. I will take some grapes down, for you to eat; for the sun is hot today, and there is scarce a breath of wind on the water."
A few minutes later, the young pair stood together by the side of the boat.
"Your mother made all sorts of objections," Mary said, laughing, "and I do think she won't let me come again. I don't think she would have done it, today, if Miriam had not stood up for me, and said that I was but a child though I was so tall; and that, as you were very soon going to work with your father, she thought that it was no use in making the change before that."
"What nonsense it all is!" John said. "Besides, you know it is arranged that, in a few months, we are to be betrothed according to the wishes of your parents and mine. It would have been done, long ago, only my father and mother do not approve of young betrothals; and think it better to wait, to see if the young ones like each other; and I think that is quite right, too, in most cases–only, of course, living here, as you have done for the last three years–since your father and mother died–there was no fear of our not liking each other."
"Well, you see," Mary said, as she sat in the stern of the boat, while John rowed it quietly along, "it might have been just the other way. When people don't see anything of each other, till they are betrothed by their parents, they can't dislike each other very much; whereas, when they get to know each other, if they are disagreeable they might get to almost hate each other."
"Yes, there is something in that," John agreed. "Of course, in our case it is all right, because we do like each other–we couldn't have liked each other more, I think, if we had been brother and sister–but it seems to me that, sometimes, it must be horrid when a boy is told by his parents that he is to be betrothed to a girl he has never seen. You see it isn't as if it were for a short time, but for all one's life. It must be awful!"
"Awful!" Mary agreed, heartily; "but of course, it would have to be done."
"Of course," John said–the possibility of a lad refusing to obey his parents' commands not even occurring to him. "Still it doesn't seem to me quite right that one should have no choice, in so important a matter. Of course, when one's got a father and mother like mine–who would be sure to think only of making me happy, and not of the amount of dowry, or anything of that sort–it would be all right; but with some parents, it would be dreadful."
For some time, not a word was spoken; both of them meditating over the unpleasantness of being forced to marry someone they disliked. Then, finding the subject too difficult for them, they began to talk about other things; stopping, sometimes, to see the fishermen haul up their nets, for there were a number of boats out on the lake. They rowed down as far as Tiberias and, there, John ceased rowing; and they sat chatting over the wealth and beauty of that city, which John had often visited with his father, but which Mary had never entered.
Then John turned the head of the boat up the lake and again began to row but, scarcely had he dipped his oar into the water, when he exclaimed:
"Look at that black cloud rising, at the other end of the lake! Why did you not tell me, Mary?"
"How stupid of me," she exclaimed, "not to have kept my eyes open!"
He bent to his oars, and made the boat move through the water at a very different rate to that at which she had before traveled.
"Most of the boats have gone," Mary said, presently, "and the rest are all rowing to the shore; and the clouds are coming up very fast," she added, looking round.
"We are going to have a storm," John said. "It will be upon us long before we get back. I shall make for the shore, Mary. We must leave the boat there, and take shelter for a while, and then walk home. It will not be more than four miles to walk."
But though he spoke cheerfully, John knew enough of the sudden storms that burst upon the Sea of Galilee to be aware that, long before he could cross the mile and a half of water, which separated them from the eastern shore, the storm would be upon them; and indeed, they were not more than half way when it burst.
The sky was already covered with black clouds. A great darkness gathered round them; then came a heavy downpour of rain; and then, with a sudden burst, the wind smote them. It was useless, now, to try to row, for the oars would have been twisted from his hands in a moment; and John took the helm, and told Mary to lie down in the bottom of the boat. He had already turned the boat's head up the lake, the direction in which the storm was traveling.
The boat sprang forward, as if it had received a blow, when the gale struck it. John had, more than once, been out on the lake with the fishermen, when sudden storms had come up; and knew what was best to be done. When he had laid in his oars, he had put them so that the blades stood partly up above the bow, and caught the wind somewhat; and he, himself, crouched down in the bottom, with his head below the gunwale and his hand on the tiller; so that the tendency of the boat was to drive straight before the wind. With a strong crew, he knew that he could have rowed obliquely towards the shore but, alone, his strength could have done nothing to keep the heavy boat off her course.
The sea rose, as if by magic, and the spray was soon dashing over them; each wave, as it followed the boat, rising higher and higher. The shores were no longer visible; and the crests of the waves seemed to gleam, with a pallid light, in the darkness which surrounded them. John sat quietly in the bottom of the boat, with one hand on the tiller and the other arm round Mary, who was crouched up against him. She had made no cry, or exclamation, from the moment the gale struck them.
"Are we getting near shore?" she asked, at last.
"No, Mary; we are running straight before the wind, which is blowing right up the lake. There is nothing to be done but to keep straight before it."
Mary had seen many storms on the lake, and knew into what a fury its waters were lashed, in a tempest such as was now upon them.
"We are in God's hands, John," she said, with the quiet resignation of her race. "He can save us, if He will. Let us pray to him."
John nodded and, for a few minutes, no word was spoken.
"Can I do anything?" Mary asked, presently, as a wave struck the stern, and threw a mass of water into the boat.
"Yes," John replied; "take that earthen pot, and bale out the water."
John had no great hope that they would live through the gale, but he thought it better for the girl to be kept busily employed. She bailed steadily but, fast as she worked, the water came in faster; for each wave, as it swept past them, broke on board. So rapidly were they traveling that John had the greatest difficulty in keeping the boat from broaching to–in which case the following wave would have filled, or overturned, her.
"I don't think it's any use, John," Mary said, quietly, as a great wave broke on board; pouring in as much water, in a second, as she could have baled out in ten minutes.
"No use, dear. Sit quietly by me but, first, pull those oars aft. Now, tie them together with that piece of rope. Now, when the boat goes down, keep tight hold of them.
"Cut off another piece of rope, and give it me. When we are in the water, I will fasten you to the oars. They will keep you afloat, easily enough. I will keep close to you. You know I am a good swimmer and, whenever I feel tired, I can rest my hands on the oars, too.
"Keep up your courage, and keep as quiet as you can. These sudden storms seldom last long; and my father will be sure to get the boats out, as soon as he can, to look for us."
John spoke cheerfully, but he had no great hopes of their being able to live in so rough a sea. Mary had still less, but she quietly carried out John's instructions. The boat was half-full of water, now, and rose but heavily upon the waves.
John raised himself and looked round; in hopes that the wind might, unnoticed, have shifted a little and blown them towards the