“And every day will I think of thee, Rachel, and of Benjamin and little Caleb, and wish we could all be in the same country rather than separated.”
“But I am better satisfied to know that Isaac is going to be married,” went on the older woman. “His wife will be like a sister, taking my place to thee.”
There was no answer.
“Why—why—Miriam,” with a bewildered little laugh, “wouldst thou have me think—why, art thou not glad, too?”
“Nay,” answered the girl, “I like not to dwell upon the thought. Have I not always been first to him, next after his duty to his master? And now how greatly is he changed! A week hath passed and he hath never mentioned the maiden’s name nor even told me he is to be married. If it be thus now—”
Rachel was aghast. Her tones were pityingly severe: “Thou hast no mother, Miriam, and I must speak plainly for thine own good. Isaac took thee into captivity out of no malice. Thou wert one of the spoils of war. Afterward, when he knew thou wert sister to Benjamin, the man who had befriended him, he was sorry and tried to be kind, but remorse is not love. Thou must not expect it of him.”
The girl turned a face as pink as the sky. “I go to the sepulcher,” she said, and slipped hastily out of the door—to confront Eli.
It was a pale and scandalized Eli, but he spoke quietly: “I will go with thee, for doth not my mother lie there also?”
Halfway down the hill they met Isaac and Benjamin in earnest conversation. Isaac intercepted the pair: “The caravan is ready. The start awaiteth thy pleasure.”
“In an hour,” Eli returned, briefly, but Miriam answered not at all, nor even raised her eyes.