Their course brought the fugitives beneath the frowning palisades of solid rock into which were cut the tombs of the Judges. These had no terrors for Deborah. Indeed, she lingered as if to commune with those departed spirits who might be near to the gates of Sheol listening for tidings from the upper world. Did these heroes of old still live? Were they unconscious of the awful fate that had fallen upon their land? Were there no powers among them which could return to the visible world and avenge the sorrows of those who are still forced to endure existence in the flesh? She remembered that once she had been poisoned by passing a noxious plant. Now she wondered if the other world had no destroying breath with which to slay the Greeks. Would not the soul of Elkiah, the righteous, stir up the abode of the dead by his coming, and by the story of his wrongs? Was Jehovah dead, too?
She condemned such thoughts as blasphemous and pushed on.
Only the stumbling of their feet against the stones broke the night silence.
At length dawn began to pour over the mountains of Moab. The jagged peaks far to the east, like prisms, unwound the white light and twisted its threads into robes of purple and orange, and transformed snowy points here and there into diamond and pearl. Deborah felt the inspiration of the scene. Surely the chariots and horses of God must charge from the sky, if Jehovah were indeed the "Lord of Hosts."
A noble hill rose before the fugitives; this was Mizpah. Here, as Deborah related, was where Samuel gathered the faithful to smite the Philistines, and down these very slopes God pursued the enemies of Israel with His thunders. Some one of these great stones might be the very stone Samuel had set up and called "Ebenezer," to commemorate the Lord's help. Oh, if she knew which it was, that she might kneel beside it, and repeat aloud the vow to serve her country's God!
On the hill gleamed the white, flat roofs of the houses of the little city of Mizpah, just showing themselves above the brown walls. Should she hasten onward? The fatigue of the long, excited tramp, the chill of the night, which the warm glow in the distant east seemed to drive deeper into their aching flesh, the human longing for companionship, and the hope of help urged her forward. She would enter Mizpah. There must be many there who had known Elkiah, and would protect his children.
But what was that which the dawning light made suddenly visible against the background of the walls? Alas! Deborah was too familiar with the ubiquitous banner flying from the spear-head. Mizpah, like Jerusalem, was occupied by the enemy. To go nearer was to court the very danger from which they were fleeing. But to flee again was too much for exhausted flesh. The shock of this discovery paralyzed her remaining energy. She tried to cling to the side of the rock against which she had been leaning. She fell fainting at its base.
Then the brain, too much excited, and unchecked by will, wrought its usual work. Memory and imagination became confused. The hill of Mizpah appeared to her repeopled with its ancient inhabitants. Old scenes of which she had read took the place of those she had just witnessed. The Greek tents became those of the ancient Philistines. Who should deliver Israel? She thought that the tall form of Saul, son of Kish, strode again along the slope of Mizpah, looking for his father's asses. Where was Samuel with the horn to anoint him king?
A full flash of the sun bursting over the eastern mountains revived her. Did it awaken her, or merely vitalize and make real her dream? She could not tell, for though this was Caleb sleeping by her side, surely yonder was Saul. His herdsman's dress could not disguise his kingly bearing. It needed not the prophetic gift of Samuel to distinguish the Lord's anointed. So stalwart was he, a head taller than most men; so majestic of mien; so noble of countenance. The apparition came near. It stood over her, taller than the rock, and seeming stronger. It bent down to her, and then it spoke:
"My children, why are you here?"