The mother, as if not hearing the latter words, continued, growing vehement: “The necromancy of that Nazarine priest has hastened the workings of heredity’s curse! Girl, thy father’s distemper is taking root in thy brain; thou too, art going mad! This scheme of peril, foredoomed to failure, is worthy of a bedlamite only. Oh, Jehovah, my shepherd, thou lead’st me now by bitter waters!”
“Mother, you called me at my birth, ‘Marah,’ ‘bitterness.’ You know how the people murmured by the bitter springs of Marah, in the wilderness, but God showed Moses a tree that sweetened the water. I’ve seen that tree and felt its power. It grows on the mount called Calvary, and is immortal.”
“Be considerate now, daughter, since I meet thee kindly. To one not believing thy Nazarene doctrine, it is useless to appeal with Christian figures.”
“Well, mother, you remember Jeptha? He had a daughter, and she was all-influential with him.”
“He was the cause of her death, as thy father will be of thine.”
“But Jeptha’s daughter became a heroine.”
“When dost thou depart?” questioned Rizpah.
“Next Lord’s day I say my last prayers in Bozrah.”
“Farewell. As well now as later. I can not bear a long parting, and after to-day we shall speak no more of this.” Miriamne was amazed by the sudden change.
“Do I go in peace?”