But evidently she was, for Miriam was again summoned to appear before her master and mistress, and in a maze of bewildered delight soon afterward sought Isaac on the veranda, where his couch had been placed.
“And when I am daughter to the House of Naaman, thou who hast taught me so much must teach me yet more,” she said with smiling confidence in the help which had never been refused.
She was surprised at his averted head, his long silence. When he did speak it was slowly and with seeming difficulty.
“When thou art daughter to the House of Naaman it will not be my right to teach thee anything. Then will I come into thy presence only to do thy bidding. I shall be thy servant even as I am servant to my master and mistress.”
The smile left Miriam’s face. She put her hand on his arm and he covered it with his larger one.
“But, Isaac,” she began, in a dismayed little voice, “why, Isaac—” and got no further, for he went on earnestly:
“But I am glad for thee, Miriam, truly glad. Thou art entirely worthy. Sweet art thou and refined and teachable, and with the advantages they will give thee thou shalt be second to none at the court. They have chosen wisely, much as they owe thee, and thou shouldst be grateful and pleased at the honor.”
He smiled at her encouragingly, trying to steady the voice which sounded so unlike his own, and went on telling her all that the new position would mean in responsibility and opportunity and happiness. Very quietly she sat listening, her hand still in his, but when Milcah came, bringing some nourishment for the invalid, Miriam slipped away to her favorite nook, trying to think calmly. Somehow joy had fled.
It had gone for Isaac also. Over and over he told himself how glad he was for her, and over and over his heart mocked him with its own desolation. Never again would she come to him with her innocent confidences; never again bring him her problems to be solved; never again would he have the sweetness of knowing that he was first to her! And that was what he wanted; wanted it more intensely than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Once he had craved the affection of another maiden. Now he wondered that he should have been carried away by a fancy. That was a dream, an impossibility. This was reality and likewise an impossibility, and Isaac was unutterably wretched.
For a week Miriam avoided him, as he knew she would henceforth, and then she sought him once more as he moped in the courtyard. It was the same Miriam he had always known. As if they had parted but an hour ago she plunged into the continuation of her tale.