“Oh! save them! Can no one save them?” while Benoni seated at her side, the water running from his blood-stained garment, moaned:
“My house sacked; my wealth taken; my people slain by the Gentiles!”
“Thank God Who has saved us,” broke in old Nehushta, “God and Caleb; and as for you, master, blame yourself. Did not we Christians warn you of what was to come? Well, as it has been in the beginning, so it shall be in the end.”
Just then Caleb appeared before them, proud and flushed with triumph, as he well might be who had done great things and saved Miriam from the sword. Benoni rose and, casting his arms about his neck, embraced him.
“Behold your deliverer!” he said to Miriam, and stooping down, he drew her to her feet.
“I thank you, Caleb. I can say no more,” she murmured; but in her heart she knew that God had delivered her and that Caleb was but His instrument.
“I am well repaid,” answered Caleb gravely. “For me this has been a fortunate day, who on it have sunk the great Syrian galley and rescued the woman—whom I love.”
“Oath or no oath,” broke in Benoni, bethinking him of what he had promised in the past, “the life you saved is yours, and if I have my way you shall take her and such of her heritage as remains.”
“Is this a time to speak of such things?” said Miriam, looking up. “See yonder,” and she pointed to the scene in progress on the seashore. “They drive our friends and servants into the sea and drown them,” and once more she began to weep.
Caleb sighed. “Cease from useless tears, Miriam. We have done our best and it is the fortune of war. I dare not send out the boats again even if the mariners would listen to my command. Nehushta, lead your lady to the cabin and strip her of these wet garments lest she take cold in this bitter wind. But first, Benoni, what is your mind?”