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.
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