“Sisters, we’d hear the fitting song of this day,” said Miriamne. Forthwith the gathered company of garlanded maidens began to retire, but in perfect order, the two star groups passing along as the company making the cross went, so preserving the form of the tableau, until the exits were reached. As the procession went forth the temple bell tolled solemnly, and the maidens sang, accompanied by organ-notes which died away finally like the sigh of tired waves on a beaten strand. Cornelius was silent, though his eyes were like the eyes of a child awakened from a dream of wonderland.
Miriamne penetrating his thoughts remarked:
“Is Cornelius weary of questioning?”
“I listen as to autumn winds in a scared flight through weeping forests, instead of to Christmas exultations!”
“The singers are of my ‘Miriamne Band,’ as they call themselves, in honor of the sister of Moses, Israel’s greatest law giver.”
“Methinks all here are mystics in thought and poets in expression!”
“Then so was God. We are but reproducing His lessons! Remember now how the Egyptian Pharaoh once commanded that all the male children of his Israelitish captives be put to death, to the intent that eventually all the females should become the prey of his people.”
“Miriamne journeys far from Bethlehem.”
“The mother and the sister watched the ark in which the infant Moses was given to the cruel mercies of the Nile.”
“I remember, but there come no carols from the bullrushes.”