The counselors of the young king shook their heads and mingled their tears with his, their hearts heavy with sorrow. If this thing came upon them—and it had—they must meet it like men. What did prudence dictate? It was a long conference, prudence seeming to dictate quite a number of things. As a result, the king hastily sent from one end of his kingdom to the other, taking account of his resources: the number of his fighting men; his weapons of war; his food-supplies; his gold and silver. His counselors met in secret session again and considered Israel’s trade relations, her diplomatic friendships. Was she able, alone, to meet the enemy? Would she have help? Upon what could she depend when this unfavorable answer should be returned as soon, indeed, it must be?
Despite the urgency of the occasion, this census consumed some time and was, alas, in no wise satisfactory. It was a fact, grave but unmistakable, that Israel was not prepared to meet a foe of Syria’s means, of Syria’s army, of Syria’s leadership! Israel never faced a greater crisis. Her king was commanded to do the impossible or else—there were no need to complete the sentence. The veriest child could speak the answer and dread it, and King Jehoram lifted up his voice and wept in the demonstrative Eastern fashion. Consternation, though veiled, was not confined to the palace. The arrival of so large a procession, its gorgeous display of wealth, the foreign garb of its people and their probable errand could not fail to be a matter of public interest and conjecture. The hopelessness of its mission could not long be kept from the populace, nor fail to sound a note of dismay to the thoughtful.
Meanwhile, in the apartments paneled in ivory, among the simple but costly furnishings, Naaman paced restlessly. Was this prophet of Jehovah on a journey to some far country that he came not? Was there any deception on the part of this young king that he failed to return a favorable reply? Did he consider it a matter of so little importance that he could safely procrastinate? Could there have been any mistake in the information which had sent him hither? Down, far below, into the Valley of Jezreel Naaman looked, but the yellow grain fields merely nodded in the summer heat and refused to answer. Off to the blue strip of the Great Sea he raised his eyes, but the flashing oars of the Phœnician galleys rose and fell unheeding. Toward the hills he looked, but from their bare, brown hulks no help arose and Hermon regarded him coldly from its snow-crowned peak. Weary, puzzled and in pain, Naaman strove, sighing, to wait yet another day while the little maid whose cheerful assurances had been the cause of his visit, lay upon her bed, in the grasp of a great longing, knowing not that her unselfish plea had brought about international complications and deep consternation to her beloved Land of Israel.
CHAPTER XVI
HOPE
In a crooked and somewhat retired street of Samaria stood a house which, next to the Ivory Palace of the king, was the most noted in all Israel. On the outside there was nothing to denote any special importance, nothing to particularly commend it to the attention of the young man who walked along slowly, scanning each dwelling with interest. It might have been the home of any well-to-do citizen. The stranger paused doubtfully, asked a question of a passer-by, and then approached the entrance gate, rapping loudly.
One in the garb of a servant but with the air and manner of authority responded to the summons. That is to say, although not opening the portal he called through it to know who was there and what the errand. These questions being answered satisfactorily, the stranger was allowed to remain standing without until the servant within walked leisurely across the courtyard and ascended a flight of stone steps in the corner to the flat roof of the dwelling and so into the presence of an older man, to whom he bowed low and who, in return, greeted him eagerly.
“No message hath come to me from the king, Gehazi?”
“None, my master.”
“And what saith the people to-day?”
“Despair filleth all hearts, my lord, and the king rendeth his garments and weepeth, for there be none to help.”