“Yea, mother.”
“And thou wilt not be turned aside to the right hand nor to the left, no matter what influence is brought to bear upon thee?” Sarah glanced apprehensively back at Judith, standing in the open door.
“Nay, mother.”
They had come to the place of parting, Caleb walking ahead, leading the two asses. Judith could not hear what was said, but she could see that the farewells were lingering and affectionate. A great wave of longing for her own parents swept over her and she turned into the house to avoid the unsympathetic and the curious. She did not know, therefore, that when the travelers were quite hidden from sight in the distance, Miriam sank upon the ground in a little heap of wretchedness.
Neither did Judith nor anyone else guess that at that very moment the mother was nervously fingering the bridle of her beast. “Long have I wanted to take this journey, Caleb, but it were easier to talk of than to do. I will go back. I cannot leave the little maid.”
“Nonsense, Sarah,” and a stranger would have noticed that Caleb’s voice was none too steady, although he affected cheerfulness. “It will do thee much good to have a visit among thy kindred.”
“But thinkest thou all will go well while we are away?” Sarah was still hesitant.
“How could they go ill with Hannah to stay with Miriam and Judith, and Eli and Nathan to see to the animals? Besides, we shall be gone but a few days. They will be sorry to see us return, for youth joyeth with youth. Mount, I pray thee, and let us be going, for our pace will be slow at the best.”
Reluctantly she yielded to his entreaties, but with many a backward glance and an anxiety which seemed wholly unwarranted.
Along the path they had just traversed came Rachel and gathered Miriam in her arms. “I feared to find thee so, little maid,” she comforted. “Nay,” compassionately, “thou must not weep. And if thou wilt dry thine eyes I will tell thee a secret so dear it hath not been whispered before.”