While we were grieving at this enmity against a Prophet sent from God, whose life is a series of good deeds, there entered hastily a fair young maid whose name was Ruth. She held an open letter in her hand, and her beautiful face glowed rosily with some secret joy, which contrasted strangely with the present sadness of our own. We knew Ruth well, and loved her as if she had been a sister. She was an orphan, and dwelt with her uncle, Elihaz, the Levite, a man of influence in the town. She was artless, unsuspecting, and very interesting in all her ways.
"What good news, dear Ruth?" asked Mary, smiling in response to her bright smiles. "A letter from whom?"
"For Sarah," answered the pretty maid, blushing so timidly and consciously that we half suspected the truth.
"But that is not telling us from whom," persevered Mary, with a little playfulness.
"You can guess," she answered, glancing over her white shoulder, as she bounded away from us into the house.
We were soon after her, and heard her as she cried on putting the letter into the dear widow's hand:
"From Samuel!"
"God be blessed!" cried the widow. "My son liveth and is well!"
"Read, dear Sarah!" cried the maiden. "He was at Alexandria when he wrote this, and will soon be at home. Oh, happy, happy day!" added the overjoyed girl, quite forgetful of our presence.
"Nay," said the widow, "my eyes are filled with tears of gladness; I cannot see to read. Do thou read it aloud. Let Adina and Mary also know what he writeth."