Lemuel, with a smile meant to be friendly, joined the group as Miriam hastened away. “Once more hath Rimmon, our sun-god, vanquished the darkness and started his victorious journey across the face of the sky, but whether it be Rimmon, god of Syria, or Baal, god of Phœnicia, or Jehovah, God of Israel, let each worship according to the custom of the land, say I.” He lowered his voice. “But didst thou think that Naaman would risk the favor of the king by importing a different God for worship at his private altar?”
Isaac sprang to his master’s defense. “It proveth the generous kindness of the king, and is but what might be expected in gratitude for healing at the hands of Jehovah’s prophet. Did not Naaman speak to Elisha, who refused to condemn his faithfulness to his old master, the king?”
Half an hour later they were all in the large and splendid Temple of Rimmon, the pride of Damascus architecture and decorating. It was beautiful with flowers, the air heavy with incense. Eli noted the service, burdened with ceremony, the reverence during the sacrifice of the burnt-offering, the earnestness of the murmured prayers, the spreading out of the hands in formal attitudes of supplication, the general singing of hymns of praise. Even the lewd dancing of the sun virgins filled him with pity rather than horror.
He spoke his mind to Miriam as he rode beside the chariot that afternoon on the way to Israel. “To be so sincere yet so mistaken; to go from the altar of Jehovah to the Temple of Rimmon; to turn from the true God to the false; to have none to show them a better way! Nay, thou couldst not be reconciled to dwell in this heathen land.”
For some reason Miriam resented his half-pitying, half-complacent tone. The quiet which had possessed her since the tearful farewells at Naaman’s gate suddenly forsook her. “The daybreak, Eli, how cometh it, suddenly and with the noise of a trumpet or silently and by degrees, one faint radiance succeeding another until all is light?”
It was a moment before he caught her meaning. “Yea, I see,” he said, glowing with admiration, “and thou hast led this household to its first, faint gleam—the gleam which shineth more and more unto the perfect daybreak.”
In the most splendid house of the “city” of Hannathon, the house with the courtyard which Judith had so coveted, Abner addressed her, a little frown on his forehead:
“One field after another have I added to what I already had. Anxious enough were our neighbors to sell and remove hence when the Syrian raid left them hungry and desolate and afraid. For almost nothing did many part with their possessions. And now the best vineyard of them all, that held by Sarah, widow of Caleb, I cannot buy because thou dost withhold the pearl which I might offer as surety for payment in full when the grapes be gathered in the fall. So obstinate is a woman! Long hath Sarah held the land and offer after offer hath she refused, saying the vineyard be all of her living save a few olive trees. Now, with Eli gone, a price hath been agreed upon, but she demanded of me a pledge. Come, give me the pearl.”
Judith’s eyes besought him piteously. “I cannot,” she faltered.