“I am not going to be daughter to the House of Naaman.”
He was startled. “Miriam! What right hast thou to choose? Thy master and mistress hath spoken. Naught is left for thee but to obey.”
“We can always choose between right and wrong, Isaac.”
He regarded her helplessly. “But what will thy mistress say? She will be very wroth with thee.”
Miriam shook her head. “Nay, for I have already explained, and she is not wroth. She laughed.”
He could not understand. “Laughed? At what?”
“I know not,” with a puzzled frown. “What other answer could I make to her questions and her planning but that I could not be daughter in the house where thou art only a servant?”
A long moment of silence. One searching glance and Isaac’s thrill was strangled by disappointment. Quite frankly her eyes had looked into his. Very matter-of-fact were the comments she was making upon the sacredness of friendship and the gratitude she felt for his great and constant kindnesses. He resisted the impulse to laugh as her mistress had done. The barbaric joy which her words had awakened died prematurely. In a little while he was the kindly, serious Isaac of her former acquaintance. He drew her down on the stone seat beside him, speaking in a tone of authority he had never used to her before.
“Sit thou here while I speak plainly to thee. Thinkest thou I shall let thee ruin thy future for the sake of what thou canst not understand? Shall I take advantage of thy innocent generosity to thine own hurt? Am I so weak and my friendship so poor, so mean that I will allow thy inexperience to deprive thee of that which thou dost so richly deserve?”
He spared neither himself nor her. He told her of the great riches of the House of Naaman, of its power, of all the advantages which would be hers. He reminded her that this was a childless household; that its mistress was lonely, needing a daughter’s companionship; that he and Milcah would be proud of her in the new relationship, and that she would be able to accomplish much good for the name of Jehovah, her God.