The water jar came near crashing to the earth in Miriam’s consternation.
“Oft have we talked of our future plans now that thou art provided for,” went on Eli, sure of understanding, “but only this morning, when we visited the camp, did he tell me of his resolve. Then I could not say him nay, knowing that here he must work for Abner, whom we like not, and I was the more persuaded when Isaac, chief of the band which brought us on our way, promised to be surety for the lad.”
Miriam was staring wild-eyed into the valley at their feet. “Gone, thou sayest? The soldiers gone? And Isaac came not to my mother’s house, came not to tell me that he goeth—”
Eli nodded impatiently. “Thinkest thou he would have said more to thee than to me? A likable young man and one in whom remorse hath kindled the fires of penitence which alone purifieth. He hath restored thee to the home from which thou wert stolen, and he saith that when the rains are over and the roads passable once more he will return to see if thou dost wish to go back to Damascus. As if thou wouldst again be bound by the cords of bondage!”
But Miriam was half-way down the hill, sobbing bitterly, leaving Eli to gaze after her in great and growing bewilderment.
The same sun which had kissed into bloom the wild flowers of Israel shone with dazzling brightness upon the white walls of Damascus, warming youth into gayety and age into contentment, but its rays were futile to coax into cheerfulness the great House of Naaman. There was an inexplicable sense of loss. The maid servants grumbled among themselves at the uncertainty of Milcah’s temper and longed for Miriam, their ever-sympathetic mediator. The men servants hoped they would see her bright face again.
“Not that she ever had much to say,” explained the old gatekeeper, “and few were the smiles she had for the young men, as most maids have, but the lowest servant and the grandest visitor were alike to her. Well do I remember—” and the garrulous tongue would run on as long as it had an audience.
Nor were the servants the only ones who missed Miriam. With light fingers Adah smoothed the creases from between her brows. “The maid servants drive me frantic,” she moaned. “‘Do I want this?’ and ‘how will I have that?’ The little maid would have known without asking and seen that it was done without confusion. My heart yearneth over the maiden.”
The soldier standing respectfully on the other side of the room nodded. “The young man Eli, to whom I talked long, saith that the mother faileth fast. Peradventure Miriam will be free to return to Syria if she so desire.”