ONCE again Isaac stood before Adah, mistress of the House of Naaman. He bowed low. “Everything is in readiness for our departure to Israel. The caravan waiteth without the gate and the maid servants thou art sending to attend upon Miriam are at hand, but lest thou shouldst have some last instructions for thy servant—”
Adah briefly acknowledged the courtesy and the courtier. She was thinner than of old, there was more of gray in her hair and the lines were deeper between her eyes. Now she rested her head upon her hand in the languor so becoming and so habitual.
“Only that thou shouldst bring the maid and her mother,” she answered, “with any others she may not care to leave behind. If she will but come, for she is free to choose, as thou knowest! Thou takest a present in thine hand. Bring the maid safely, but in haste, for she is dear unto me.”
The messenger bowed his understanding of his orders, but the lady was not through with the conference. She continued, musingly: “Two years since she left us, Isaac, and one since we had confidently planned for her return. It hath been a long, long year, full of alarm and anxiety for us and of waiting for her. If she hath waited! Miriam is now at an age when maidens dream romantic, vagrant dreams of mating. Oft in the night seasons have I lain awake wondering if, in despair of a Syrian messenger, she hath betrothed herself or possibly married”—the speaker shuddered—“some Israelitish youth who would not be at home in Damascus or the House of Naaman. As thou knowest, Syrian ways are more gentle and their speech less rough than those of Israel.” She paused, evidently expecting some comforting assurance that her fears were not, could not, be true.
“But the tones of love are as soft in one tongue as in another, and when interpreted to a maiden’s willing heart they are softer still,” he said, gently.
She was exasperated at his answer, not knowing what it had cost him.
“Miriam gave promise of beauty,” she continued, “and Syrian lovers will she have in plenty, especially when it is known that the favor of the House of Naaman goeth with her. Already one, hoping to be the first, hath asked her of me in marriage.”
The start which Isaac gave was not lost upon Adah, but she affected blindness.
“Thou knowest him well. It is thy friend, Lemuel.”
The young soldier was visibly agitated. He prostrated himself before Adah, entreating her attention: “And if thy servant hath found favor in thy sight grant that this sacrifice shall not be. Always hath the maid feared and hated the man and with good cause, as we who know him can testify.”
He hesitated before making a second request: “No man liveth who is good enough for her, but almost am I persuaded that she would rather be given into my care.”
Adah repressed a smile. “I shall give Miriam to someone more to my liking and to hers than is Lemuel, but I had not supposed thou wouldst have taken advantage of the maid’s childish expressions of fondness for thee to weave into them meanings she could not then understand.”
Isaac’s cheek flushed under his soldier tan. “I have not, my mistress, and I would not. A thousand times hath she innocently told me that which I long to hear her say with full knowledge of its import.”
His manner changed to sadness. “Yet do I know that always she hath carried in her heart the image of Eli, and that she was greatly touched by his desire to ransom her from what he supposed was cruel slavery. He hath the soul of a saint and the mind of a seer, while thy servant is naught but a soldier. I fear that when I reach Hannathon it will be to find her choice hath already been made and needeth but thine approval.”
Adah frowned. “Thy master’s plans cannot be lightly changed. This is a childless home and its treasure is great. We are not unmindful of the two through whose loving devotion much of its happiness hath come. Already hath thy master divided between thee and Miriam the present which the prophet of Israel refused, and seeing thy tender affection each for the other, we have determined that when the maid is old enough she shall be given thee in marriage. Thus shall the joy and contentment of both be assured, and thou shalt be unto us in our age and helplessness as the pillars are to the temple.”
The maid servant who was fanning her mistress gasped audibly, for which indecorum the sorely displeased Adah sent her hastily and in disgrace from the room, but the punishment rested lightly. Once outside the angle of vision of those within, feet and tongue were nimble in disseminating this surprising bit of news. Only Milcah, exacting and irritable, did the excited servants fear to approach. The tidings spread, however, not only within the gate but without, and provided a choice bit of gossip for the caravan, impatiently awaiting its leader. Two of the company failed to receive the message with the laughing approval of the others: over the sensitive face of a boy passed a look of surprise, and the man next to him smiled an evil smile.
Meanwhile Isaac had stammered his thanks and had again become a suppliant: “But if it please not the maid, my mistress, I pray thee to entreat thy husband that he transfer his favor to the young man Eli. I think there can be no other in Miriam’s thoughts. Thou wilt find him worthy, and in the maiden’s joy thou shalt have thy reward.”
Adah was frankly amused. “Thou dost plead well to be released. Peradventure some other maiden—” but the look on his face checked the suggestion.
“Not for admiration of Eli do I speak, but for love of Miriam,” he declared. “The circumstances in which I would have brought another maiden to the House of Naaman could not be justified in the pure eyes of my little maid.”
“Then am I sure that thy master’s confidence hath not been misplaced,” she answered, softly, “and a maiden’s unruly heart is not always wise. Nevertheless, do thou bring the young man if it seemeth right unto thee. I trust to thy discretion, and when I have had time to talk to Miriam and to observe for myself, I shall be better able to judge what is best. Only go thou quickly and delay not.”
Left alone, Adah laughed quietly to herself. “If Miriam had the eyes of experience, she would prefer the good-looking young soldier who loveth her unselfishly to the gifted young fanatic who loveth an ideal more than any maid. I shall not compel her choice, but her master will like not the idea of sharing the treasure of the House of Naaman with a stranger.”
Quite unexpectedly Milcah bent over her, having entered the apartment unobserved while her mistress mused. “Didst thou wish something? I thought I heard thee speak. That worthless maid I sent in here an hour ago hath not wit to do aught save curl her hair and make eyes at the men servants.” The woman wiped away a tear and continued, speaking unsteadily: “The caravan hath just started. Many a time have I seen my brother ride to war and cared less, but to-day it seemeth so joyful it is almost solemn.”
All at once the peace-loving Adah felt a vague uneasiness, dreading the unpleasantness of Milcah’s disapproval. Clearly she had a duty of preparation.
“But if Isaac should ever think of marrying—” she began, but only to be promptly and tearfully interrupted:
“Say not so, for I should hate his wife. Never a maid have I seen save our little Miriam that I could regard with sisterly affection, and he would never think of the child that way.”
Up the Valley of Jiptha-el in the heat of midsummer dashed a lone horseman. No anxious watcher from the roof heralded his approach, but every echo sought to imitate his wild shouts. The village was surprised, alarmed, but comforted when the horseman was discovered to be Nathan—reckless, jubilant, noisy, the veteran of one war and a braggart. In a single breath he poured out greetings, exclamations, comments and all the gossip of Damascus.
Isaac was coming, but just this side of the Jordan he had been obliged to make camp with a sick soldier, Lemuel by name, so he (Nathan), unable to wait, had pushed on alone. Danger there was (his manner became very self-important), but what of that to one who had faced the hordes of the desert? Last year when the fruit trees first blossomed around Damascus, its peace and prosperity had been threatened by the half-wild tribes who roamed the desert to the east; beautiful, rich, lonely Damascus, whose stoutest walls were her walls of living men, her soldiery! But it had held, thanks to Naaman, Captain of the Host, who was respected and adored as no other man in the city.
It was the younger men who had showed most valor. Once he (Nathan) had been surrounded by five dark-skinned, savage enemies. Making ready his sling he was taking aim and would have slain them all had not Isaac and his servant interfered. He bore them no malice, but when Isaac realized that they had not been needed he had given him a horse all his own. Fine horse it was with dainty feet and fiery spirit, Isaac’s share of the spoils of battle, but he would probably never miss it. Everybody knew he stood high in favor with the House of Naaman. He might in time be chief steward and rich.
This spring not a desert chieftain had dared even to gaze upon Damascus, but there were rumors that the Assyrian hosts came nearer and nearer. Not a soldier was allowed to leave the city. Day and night a watch had been maintained and every fighting man stood ready, but the Assyrians tarried. Pity, too! It would have been glorious to engage in battle with the finest army in the world. But no enemies having appeared by midsummer and scouting parties reporting the danger past for a time at least, Isaac had been allowed to take a small band into Israel to render the journey to Syria safe for Miriam. No doubt he would wish to hurry back, for was he not going to be married? The tidings had been scattered abroad the morning they had started. Nay, he knew nothing more.
All at once Nathan realized that his speech had been undiplomatic, and hastily turned his attention to Hannathon. Eli was taller and thinner than ever. He ought to be a soldier and properly fed. A good fighter he would make too. Miriam had become amazingly pretty. If she found there was no one to marry her, he would be willing. She looked something like Rachel did before she faded out so. How was Benjamin? He would ride out to find him after a while, for would he not want to see the horse? And how the little boy had grown! Who would have supposed that such a sturdy, bright-looking youngster could have developed from that ugly, stupid baby? The village was just the same; very unexciting after Damascus. The only new thing was the house. So the old was not good enough, and they had built one like those in Syria! Well, they were more comfortable. How sad that Sarah had not liked it! She might have lived longer if she had not been obliged to change her ways to suit those who had learned better.
But Eli must come and look at the horse he had left at the foot of the hill. He knew his master and he had a trick— Still talking, Nathan descended the path with Eli while Rachel and Miriam returned to their grinding at the mill, Rachel smiling and chatting, but Miriam strangely unresponsive. And once again a shadow darkened the doorway. With respectful salutations Lemuel stood upon the threshold, seeming not to be affected by the frigid greeting he received. He had merely pushed on ahead of the party, he said, desiring earnestly to see the maid whom he had missed sadly. Her mistress would explain why he felt he had a right to do this. (Miriam shrank from his bold gaze.)
Isaac came more slowly, seeming, in fact, to be in no haste to arrive. When he did come he would have news. Rumor said he was soon to be married, but since he refused to talk on the subject it was taken to mean that the matter had been arranged by his master’s decree rather than his own preference. Not even the name of the maid was known, which was further evidence that he was not proud of her. It was not unlikely that his choice centered elsewhere, but that might all be gossip. Certainly, it was beneath a man’s honor to bear tales of his friend, and he and Isaac had long been comrades. Well, Isaac was handsome and in favor with the rich and powerful House of Naaman, so maids there were in plenty who would be glad to unite their fortunes with his.
The speaker may have felt the chill with which his tidings were received or his errand may have been finished. At all events he took his departure. Rachel watched him from the door, shivering the while.
“Let us sweep the house,” she suggested. “I feel as if a serpent had uncoiled itself in our midst,” but Miriam said nothing at all.
Screened from observation by the bushes down in the gorge, Lemuel examined a wounded foot. “Cursed be those thorns,” he grumbled, “but it is worth it even though I had to leave my horse. Lucky that I remembered the cross-cuts of our scouting days in Israel! It hath helped me to repay Isaac for many long-cherished grudges.”
He glanced at the sun and uttered an exclamation. “I had better be on my way to Damascus by the time he findeth that I have tricked him.”
Near at hand an animal whinnied and Lemuel’s eyes brightened. A few moments later, where the path led into the valley road, a horse and its rider dodged quickly behind a clump of trees to avoid being seen by a caravan at the head of which rode Isaac, and that afternoon Nathan searched sorrowfully but in vain for his steed of the desert.