The next words came with a low intensity like the fierce growl of some mother-beast called upon to defend her young: “Always shalt thou be a stranger in a strange land with not even memories, such as thy father and I enjoy, to console thee. Scorn and misunderstanding and bitterness of spirit shall be thy portion forever. O little son, dearly as I love thee, how can I bear to see thee grow into manhood thus?” Her bosom heaved and her eyes suffused with tears.
She was startled by a long, low peal of thunder and a great gust of wind which blew violently into the tent through the raised flap. With the babe in her arms she went quickly to this opening, which served as both door and window, and peered out anxiously. A few large drops of rain were already falling, giving promise of the deluge which came suddenly, even as she looked. For some reason the babe wrinkled up its tiny face and began to wail. The woman, with a quick movement, let fall the curtain flap and retreated from the entrance, soothing the child meanwhile.
“Nay, little son, it is not Rimmon, whom these Syrians sometimes worship as the sun-god and sometimes as the storm-god. He is not, as they believe, punishing his people for their sins, lashing them with the fury of the storm. It is Jehovah, sending rain that grass may grow upon the hills to provide food for his creatures. Surely, none knowest better than thy mother that he is of tender mercy. Nay,” as the cries grew louder, “weep not even for thy father. Long before thou and I thought of rain he had sensed the storm and securely hidden his sheep in some cave of the mountains where the forethought of the shepherds hath already stored food for such emergencies. Skillful and tender and watchful is thy father. The worst for us is that we shall have to spend the night alone, so far from the sheepfold and the tents of other shepherds. Shall we sit here, just within the door, where we can see what passeth without, heart’s delight?”
Suiting the action to the word she lifted the tent-flap a little and peered out, uttering an exclamation. “It is hard to see through the blinding rain and the wind, sweet one, but someone cometh.”
Again she looked. “It is not sheep, and so I know it is not thy father. Rather it seemeth like a chariot. Yea, it is a chariot with horsemen before and behind.”
She clasped the babe to her in an agony of apprehension. “Only king’s messengers ride with chariot and horsemen. They come in haste, as if on urgent business. They will stop when they see the tent and seek shelter from the storm. And thou and I alone!”
Scarcely had she ceased speaking when she detected that the little company was, as she feared, preparing to halt. The foremost horseman dismounted and, approaching the tent, entered with an air of insolent authority. The woman, face to face with her intruder-guest, drew back in fear. He smiled triumphantly.
“Twice,” he said, “nay, thrice hast thou escaped me. Once in the gorge in Israel when thou fedest wild pigeons and knew not thou wert observed; once as we journeyed toward Damascus, and again in Damascus itself. Thrice had I thee in my power. Wert thou not my captive? Thrice hast thou escaped through the help of thy friend—peradventure more than friend—Isaac.”
The woman lifted her head proudly, resenting the sneer, a torrent of indignant denials on the end of her tongue, but his manner immediately became conciliatory: “Yet though the gods, who have ever been kind to me, have brought thee into my hand once more, and there be no Isaac near to secure thy release, thou hast no cause for alarm. Only speak thou favorably of me to the maiden I have brought hither and all shall be well with thee and with thy husband and babe. Refuse, and—”
His words were cut short by the arrival of the rest of the party, who crowded into the tent unceremoniously, but though the threat was unspoken, the woman shuddered. It was as if personified Evil had intruded into the sacredness of Home. Retreating as far as possible into the dim shadows of the tent’s interior, she watched apathetically the entrance of two women, heavily veiled. That they were persons of importance was evidenced by the deference with which they were treated by the soldier-escort, chief of whom was Lemuel.