“Once,” he explained, “when thou wert but a little maid and knewest not the meaning of such things, I bound these damson blossoms upon my heart in token of loving devotion to thee. They have withered, but that for which they stood has never died. I cannot suppose”—with an involuntary glance at Eli—“that thou wilt treasure them as I have, but it is thy right to know.”
Without waiting for an answer he dropped back to his old position. A long time Miriam stared at the blossoms, then, with tenderest care she folded them in their sheepskin covering and put them in her bosom. He was at her side instantly.
“Thou dost not count them as naught, Miriam?”
“Love is not friendship, Isaac.”
The thrill he had experienced suddenly died. It was a moment before he could answer in the old, matter-of-fact way. “Then it were only selfishness, Miriam. If it be not friendship, then it is not love either, for love is friendship intensified, glorified.”
She was silent. After some hesitancy he spoke again, this time with quiet determination and in the speech of Israel, which they had used before so that the maid servants might not understand.
“The hour hath come, Miriam, when I must tell thee what thy mistress hath said and ask thee for the truth.” He told her briefly the plans Adah had outlined to him.
She made no comment.
“But because thou wert free in Israel and but a servant in Syria I have wondered if thou art sacrificing thyself to give advantages to Eli.”
The answer was very faint. “Nay, Isaac.”