'Yes,' he made answer finally; 'there is a
small thing, and one not difficult to obtain. I beg of you to bring me a
single rose from the plains of Sharon.' The pilgrim promised, and
departed. On his return he presented himself before his friend. 'You have
brought it?' he cried. 'Friend,' answered the pilgrim, sadly, 'I have
brought your rose; but, alas! After all this weary travelling it is now but
a poor, withered thing.' 'Give it me!' exclaimed the friend, eagerly. The
other did so. True, it was lifeless and withered; not a vestige remained
of its once fragrant glory. But as the man held it tenderly in his hand,
memory and love untold overcame him, and he wept in ecstasy. And as his
tears fell on the faded rose, lo! The petals sprang up, flushed into life;
an exquisite perfume enveloped it, --it had revived in all its beauty.
Sir, in the words of the rabbi, 'In the light of toleration and love, we
too have revived, we too are looking up.'"
As the girl paused, Kemp slightly, almost reverentially, raised his hat.
"Miss Levice, that is exquisite," he said softly.
They had reached the old, poorer section of the city, and the doctor
stopped before a weather-beaten cottage.
"This is where Bob receives," he said, holding out a hand to Ruth; "in all
truth it cannot be called a home.
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