It had been late autumn when Miriam came to Syria; but winter rains were now over and Damascus rejoiced in an absence of dampness and chill, nor had the extreme heat come on with its irritating dust. The charm of one day had not faded when another began, but the nameless gloom which always hovered over the House of Naaman had not lifted, and Miriam pondered much.
All this time she had never seen the master of the house, but, running across the courtyard one morning, she met him face to face and bowed low. She knew him by his splendid dress, his air of authority, the deference paid him by the numerous servants moving here and there. When he had passed she staggered back against the wall, faint with horror, vainly seeking to erase from memory what she had witnessed. Now she knew why he had not braved the inclemency of the weather heretofore. It was leprosy!
Her errand forgotten, the little maid went directly to her mistress, out of breath with haste. Impulsively she clasped between her own the hand she had thought so white and idle.
“Not until this moment, my mistress, did I know that thou art grieved. I thought thou wert lonely in this big house, but I have beheld the reason for thy sorrow. Oh, my mistress, would God that my lord were with the prophet that is in Samaria, for he would recover him of his leprosy!”
Adah, wife of Naaman, looked down upon the flushed and eager figure kneeling beside her and gently drew away her hand. She was not insensible of the kindness intended, but it was so futile.
In vain Miriam told her of the miracle which had saved Hannah’s sons from bondage and of many another wrought by the Man of God who dwelt in Israel, but her words fell upon an unbelieving heart. Wonderful was it, thought Adah, to have the unquestioning belief of youth before experience disillusions, yet how absurd to suppose that what Rimmon and Baal and Chemosh and a host of other gods could not do, even though Naaman had offered rich gifts, could be accomplished by this almost unheard of Jehovah! Nay, it were impossible, and lest fruitless expectation be aroused and a fresh disappointment experienced, she would say nothing to her husband of this well-meant but wholly impossible suggestion.
It was, however, to reach Naaman’s ears a few days later and in another manner. Miriam spoke to Isaac about the matter and urged it with vehemence. He could not resist her pleading, but he was reluctant, doubtful.
“Yea, I will tell him all thou sayest, but he hath tried so many things so many times I fear he will not heed.”
Isaac was, however, mistaken. Naaman, commander-in-chief of the armies of Syria and popular hero, was accustomed to solicitude. To him it seemed neither unusual nor audacious that a small maid servant should have suggested a means of relief from the awful malady which was slowly sapping his strength. He paid it the compliment of a brief consideration, wholly untouched by the hopelessness of his wife or the hesitancy of his favorite man servant, with both of whom he spoke concerning it.