Miriam was stunned. Bold! Why, to be that was to be the worst thing on earth, for a bold maiden was never respected. Her mother had told her. After a long minute she found voice: “Thinkest thou I do not know that ‘men’ are strangers or those who have no right to caress thee? Thinkest thou my mother hath not warned me to be careful? Isaac is not a man. He is just—just—Isaac. The same as Benjamin. I almost hated him at first because he took me from my home”—the words came chokingly—“but he hath explained to me that he cannot take me back, yet he repenteth of the evil he hath done and seeketh to make me happy. Thou hast never been kind—nor anyone else in this big house save Isaac—”
She could say no more, but with heart almost bursting under its load of grief and misunderstanding, she ran swiftly past Isaac without seeing him and hid somewhere to weep for the mother she never expected to see again. Milcah was limp with despair when her brother entered the room.
“At her age I never attracted a man’s attention.”
“Nor at any age, sister.”
The woman glanced at him quickly and beheld what she had never thought to see in his face—a wrath so great that she cowered before it. His tones were new and strange: “Oft hast thou told me, sister, of our great leader, Moses, who met Jehovah face to face in the flaming bush of the desert. I go to the desert but to fight its wandering hordes of warriors. Hast thou considered where I am to meet Jehovah? Might it not be in the pure heart of this little maid? Certainly I have done nothing to deserve her gratitude and affection, and thou as little; but if I were worthy, I think there is naught that could hold a man to higher thoughts and better deeds than the trust and expectancy in the eyes of a child.”
The speaker departed hurriedly. He too could say no more, for quite suddenly his own shortcomings swarmed before him like black specters with murderous intent. Why had he not told Miriam of her brother’s captivity? Why had he not taken her to see Rachel? Why had he failed to tell the older maiden of the presence in Syria of her betrothed? Why had he not sought out Benjamin, as he had long ago promised? Was it enough that he had assured himself of his benefactor’s safety? Nay, he lacked courage. That was it: he was afraid, he, a soldier! He was afraid to lose the flattering confidence of the little maid; afraid to expose himself to the fascination Rachel still held for him; afraid to confess the injury he had unwittingly wrought Benjamin, the man to whom he was indebted. The thought was bitter: he—afraid. Yet it was true. He would begin reparation by telling Miriam of Benjamin; by taking her this very day to see Rachel; but she was nowhere to be found and he went away regretful. On the morrow, if he could obtain permission, he would be far away. If he could obtain permission! Did he not come and go at another’s will? The morrow might bring duties elsewhere.
Milcah, when Isaac had gone, sat down weakly upon the bench which had been the scene of Miriam’s transgression. She was face to face with a stupendous thought. Her young brother was growing into manhood. He formed his own opinions and defended them. She had lost her baby! She said the words over slowly, trying to comprehend; trying to tear loose her heart-strings; trying to imagine him as he would be in the future. She was dazed, bewildered, sorrowful. That he should have rebelled against words spoken for his own good; should have defied her, to whom he was so dear! The outburst had been so unnecessary, and then her anger flamed against Miriam. Had it not been for her it would never have happened. Always was there a maid, large or small, to come between a man and his family. Had she not seen it? It was the way of the world. The only thing that saved the present situation was that this was a little maid. How careful she would have to be never to offend one whom he loved!
Meditating irritably, she was annoyed to find a small figure in her lap, a wet cheek pressed to hers: “I am sorry, Milcah, that I said thou wert not kind. I should have remembered thou wert not brought up in Israel, and so thou dost not know about ‘showing forth his loving-kindness in the morning and his faithfulness every night,’ but be of good comfort, I will show thee how.”
The woman gasped. “I need not,” she commenced indignantly, and broke off the sentence in the middle, glaring in displeasure but utter helplessness into the tear-stained face of this unwelcome child who was taking such unwarranted liberties. No one else would dare! Yet it was distinctly pleasant to feel those clinging little arms. It roused one to such unexpectedly human emotions. She wondered how it would have been if her mother had not frowned upon Somebody. If the brief romance, so quickly stifled, had come true, if she had married, would a little maid of her very own be making charming overtures of affection like this one?
All at once Milcah gathered the child to her bosom, a little awed at the overpowering sweetness of it but wholly lost in its joy. Without premeditation she was whispering soft words which had never been used since Isaac had needed them; words which came falteringly from a tongue to which they were new and strange; words she had thought never to speak again. A long time they sat thus while a maid servant peeped in at the door and, amazed at what she saw, went away stealthily to tell the tale to those who scoffed at it as impossible.