As they plodded on, Isaac turned sadly to Benjamin: “I fear my question is already answered.”
Benjamin put a sympathetic hand upon his shoulder. “Then for many reasons would I be sorry,” he declared, “yet peradventure the maiden’s mistress will not let her make such a mistake.”
Not until they neared their destination did Eli speak to Miriam, then he burst forth with a vehemence which awed her: “Could he come with thee to this sacred place? Canst thou share thy holiest memories with him? Nay, for well thou knowest that our two mothers lie here because of the wounds he inflicted.”
“Say rather ‘the wounds of war,’ Eli. Isaac hath repented of his part and hath made such restitution as he could. Should we count it as naught? I think our mothers would forgive, and doth not our Law require it?”
Eli continued as if he had not heard: “Tidings did I hear in the camp that thy mistress was to give thee to him in marriage, but because thou hast filled my heart did I believe I was in thine. I did not know thou wouldst prefer the servant of the rich man, who hath manners which belong to a king’s court, who is clothed in fine linen and fareth sumptuously every day. I thought not thou wouldst despise the preacher of Jehovah, whose lot will be a far country and coarse apparel and scanty food and the contempt and ridicule of the multitude. Thou didst tell me that it was duty which called thee to Damascus. I have just learned that it was the voice of thy beloved. Nor would I have believed had I not heard from thine own lips through the open door.”
Miriam lifted her head a trifle defiantly. “What thou sayest is as if it were in an unknown tongue. The tidings thou hast heard have not reached mine ears, nor can it be true when well I know that it would not be to his liking.” Her tones were bitter. The poison of Lemuel’s remarks was still at work.
She went on more calmly: “Never have I thought of Isaac as thou hast described him but only as the friend in whom I could safely trust, who was never amused like my mistress nor impatient like Milcah nor indifferent like everyone else.”
“But friendship is not love, Miriam. Thou must not think it.”
Suddenly he took her in his arms. “Thou art mine,” he cried, fiercely. “Long ago thy mother gave thee to me. Neither Isaac nor any man shall take thee from me.”
He drew a long, sobbing breath, gazing at her with a face so full of tragic sorrow she was appalled.