There comes to some, in every age of time, the actual power of reaching the source of light. It is to the mother that this awful privilege is oftenest granted. When in her supreme agony of love she spans all space and reaches the eternal to beg the life of her child.
Suddenly Miriam stood still, her cry ceased and in a quiet voice she spake to the great silence:
“What is it that Thou sayest to my soul? Aye, I know the words, ‘Be strong and of good courage; fear not, for it is the Lord that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee or forsake thee.’ Yea, they are sweet and comforting words! What is Thy name, Thou that art clothed in light?” Then she stretched forth her hands, a smile came to her lips. “Thou art an angel of the Lord,” she cried. “Aye, spirit, I will lean upon thy breast and thou shalt lead me through the gates.”
And the prophet Aaron, watching Miriam from his doorway (for the moon had come out of hiding and again the parched plain was as bright as at midday) lifted up his voice and said: “Keep Thy strong arm about her, oh Merciful One; rest her weary head upon thy loving, tender breast, for Thou, too, in Thy time of earthly sojourn, knew the yearning of the Mother heart. Oh, thou shining one, thou, too, wert once like her, a sorrowing woman, and thy God, and Miriam’s God, hath sent thee to lead her through the gate.”
CHAPTER VIII.
The low muttering had grown to louder tone, the wind came in mad gusts. There were vivid ribbons of fire, and great reverberating crashes of thunder.
Beside the little bed on which lay the dead child knelt Miriam, and at the foot of the couch stood the Queen and Alric. It would have been hard to tell which of the two faces (the man’s or the woman’s) showed the less of fear or sorrow. The ravages of pestilence, famine and fever had left them unmoved and the present visitation of death they were meeting in quiet and silence. The great General had no tears to shed for the dead King, or the dead King’s little son, and the woman warrior stood dry eyed, gazing upon the fast stiffening body of the child.
To Miriam this calmness meant a pent up agony. So, forgetting her own sorrow, she strove to form words of comfort for the Queen; and as she spoke the darkness grew deeper, and the very air became, as it were shut out, so that not in breaths, but in gasps, did the stifling Egyptians strive to fill their lungs. A silence fell, a great hush came, and in its midst a man crawled into the room and stopped at the Queen’s feet, then he gasped out: “Zelas, the great High Priest, bids thee, oh Queen, and thee, my Lord Alric, to hasten to him. He waits, in the secret grotto, under the Sphinx.” As he uttered the last word, he fell dead. It was at this instant that an awful flood of light filled the room. In its glory one saw that Miriam, with an ecstatic smile, arose for an instant, stretched her arms upward, and fell lifeless across the body of the little Prince.
Then the storm burst, and the blessed rain fell, and the curse had been lifted. * * *