At length she realized a strange transformation taking place within her; she felt that she had grown suddenly to be no longer a child, but a woman. Nor was she merely a woman of Jerusalem, but a strong avenging spirit. She drank the bitterness of her own heart, and was intoxicated, frenzied, with it. She, who had never felt anything but love, had now learned to hate, and it seemed good to her. Then she became frightened at this revelation of herself to herself. She had possessed a mastiff, gentle, affectionate. Little blind Caleb would lie between its great paws as in the lap of Huldah. Once the beast was stoned upon the street. From that day his temper was changed. He became a savage brute; doubtless his original wild nature reasserting itself. Was she herself not some cruel, vicious spirit suddenly awakened?
She prayed, "God save me from myself!"
An answer came. It did not allay her excitement, but exalted her; seemed to inspire her.
The music of revelry in the tents beyond the walls became to her spiritualized senses like the timbrel and song of Miriam of old, when that woman led the hosts of Israel by the waters of the Red Sea. Was not her own name Deborah? and did not a Deborah once lead her nation in battle? She remembered how her father had bemoaned her being only a girl, unless she could grow into another Deborah indeed. She heard again the words of the ancient song, "Awake! awake, Deborah! awake! Awake! Arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity captive!"
If she could not imitate the great prophetess, why could she not emulate the deed of Jael, who drove the nail through the head of the sleeping Syrian general, Sisera? Why had she not slain Apollonius? A woman, a common woman of Israel, had delivered her land; why should not she? She murmured aloud the words of the Scripture, "Blessed above all women shall Jael, the wife of Heber, the Kenite, be; blessed shall she be above all women in the tent."
Then she prayed, "Oh, God of Israel, take Thy handmaiden for what Thou wilt—for what Thou wilt!"
A chill, as of a wind from icy Hermon, ran through her frame, though the night was not cold. Was this the breath of the Lord? Then her blood became like liquid fire, and burned along the veins. Was she in communion with the divine fury? Again her flesh felt a cooling sensation, as if fanned and softly touched by an angel's wing. Was not an angel with her? These experiences were repeated again and again.
Long time she sat upon a stone amid the ruins. She hailed the moonlight that lay beyond as some all-watchful Power; the shadow in which she sat became like some awful Presence. Was not this a token of God's will, approving her own thought to become an avenger of the wrongs of her people?
At length the moonlight faded; the shadow disappeared, for the dawn sent its ruddy gleams along the east. That was to her the smile of the Lord. Henceforth she was to be, not the daughter of Elkiah, but the daughter of Jerusalem; the child of her nation; the sacrifice, if need be, for her people. The fire had been put out on the Temple altar. Holy priests could no longer bind the brutes for sacrifice. But the great cause of God was itself the altar, and she—she would cling to that altar, binding herself there by the cords of a willing consecration. With the words of an oft-repeated psalm—words that had a meaning infinitely deeper now than she had ever conceived before—"Lo, I come to do Thy will, O God; bind the sacrifice to the altar," she stepped out of the shadow of the wall into the blending light of the setting moon and rising sun.
In an instant she darted back into her retreat. The stalwart form of a soldier was passing; but she was too late to escape his detection. The man halted, put his hand above his eyes as if to brush away the darkness, and turned in among the ruins.