All at once the peace-loving Adah felt a vague uneasiness, dreading the unpleasantness of Milcah’s disapproval. Clearly she had a duty of preparation.
“But if Isaac should ever think of marrying—” she began, but only to be promptly and tearfully interrupted:
“Say not so, for I should hate his wife. Never a maid have I seen save our little Miriam that I could regard with sisterly affection, and he would never think of the child that way.”
Up the Valley of Jiptha-el in the heat of midsummer dashed a lone horseman. No anxious watcher from the roof heralded his approach, but every echo sought to imitate his wild shouts. The village was surprised, alarmed, but comforted when the horseman was discovered to be Nathan—reckless, jubilant, noisy, the veteran of one war and a braggart. In a single breath he poured out greetings, exclamations, comments and all the gossip of Damascus.
Isaac was coming, but just this side of the Jordan he had been obliged to make camp with a sick soldier, Lemuel by name, so he (Nathan), unable to wait, had pushed on alone. Danger there was (his manner became very self-important), but what of that to one who had faced the hordes of the desert? Last year when the fruit trees first blossomed around Damascus, its peace and prosperity had been threatened by the half-wild tribes who roamed the desert to the east; beautiful, rich, lonely Damascus, whose stoutest walls were her walls of living men, her soldiery! But it had held, thanks to Naaman, Captain of the Host, who was respected and adored as no other man in the city.
It was the younger men who had showed most valor. Once he (Nathan) had been surrounded by five dark-skinned, savage enemies. Making ready his sling he was taking aim and would have slain them all had not Isaac and his servant interfered. He bore them no malice, but when Isaac realized that they had not been needed he had given him a horse all his own. Fine horse it was with dainty feet and fiery spirit, Isaac’s share of the spoils of battle, but he would probably never miss it. Everybody knew he stood high in favor with the House of Naaman. He might in time be chief steward and rich.
This spring not a desert chieftain had dared even to gaze upon Damascus, but there were rumors that the Assyrian hosts came nearer and nearer. Not a soldier was allowed to leave the city. Day and night a watch had been maintained and every fighting man stood ready, but the Assyrians tarried. Pity, too! It would have been glorious to engage in battle with the finest army in the world. But no enemies having appeared by midsummer and scouting parties reporting the danger past for a time at least, Isaac had been allowed to take a small band into Israel to render the journey to Syria safe for Miriam. No doubt he would wish to hurry back, for was he not going to be married? The tidings had been scattered abroad the morning they had started. Nay, he knew nothing more.
All at once Nathan realized that his speech had been undiplomatic, and hastily turned his attention to Hannathon. Eli was taller and thinner than ever. He ought to be a soldier and properly fed. A good fighter he would make too. Miriam had become amazingly pretty. If she found there was no one to marry her, he would be willing. She looked something like Rachel did before she faded out so. How was Benjamin? He would ride out to find him after a while, for would he not want to see the horse? And how the little boy had grown! Who would have supposed that such a sturdy, bright-looking youngster could have developed from that ugly, stupid baby? The village was just the same; very unexciting after Damascus. The only new thing was the house. So the old was not good enough, and they had built one like those in Syria! Well, they were more comfortable. How sad that Sarah had not liked it! She might have lived longer if she had not been obliged to change her ways to suit those who had learned better.
But Eli must come and look at the horse he had left at the foot of the hill. He knew his master and he had a trick— Still talking, Nathan descended the path with Eli while Rachel and Miriam returned to their grinding at the mill, Rachel smiling and chatting, but Miriam strangely unresponsive. And once again a shadow darkened the doorway. With respectful salutations Lemuel stood upon the threshold, seeming not to be affected by the frigid greeting he received. He had merely pushed on ahead of the party, he said, desiring earnestly to see the maid whom he had missed sadly. Her mistress would explain why he felt he had a right to do this. (Miriam shrank from his bold gaze.)