Then the good woman, having arranged with Tabni to take turns watching their precious charge through the night, composed herself also for slumber.
But Ruth, as she slept, had all the fair and lovely things that had hitherto made up the gladsome world of her guileless life, return to her. Her father, her mother, who had become only a memory while she was yet a little child, and Isaiah,—all were there. Then she dreamed that some one spoke to her, “Belshazzar the sinful lies with the dead; his power is vanished forever.” And she walked in a strange city, not Babylon; and Isaiah was at her side, while all around were fair and lofty mountains. Isaiah’s hand was in hers, she knew she was his wife, and he said to her, “Behold Jerusalem! the city which God gives back to us! Here is our home, and let us be glad together!” Before them was a stately temple, but not that of Nabu or Marduk. Whereupon Isaiah said: “Let us enter in and give thanks to the good Lord God.” But just as she was passing within the gates, her whole being quivering with rapturous joy, the sweet dream ended; and she was lying on a rude straw pallet, and awakening—where?...
A sudden rasping of tackling plucked her down from paradise to the nethermost abyss. There was a thin streak of twilight stealing through the open hatch. Near her was stretched Tabni, snoring a little louder than a bull. Her misery returned to the Jewess in one awful surge; she pressed her hands to her face. “Lord God, if indeed Thou hast any power at all, have pity,” was her murmured prayer, “and let me die!” But a rustle at her side proclaimed the presence of Binit. “The little mistress,” purred the woman, “is awaking refreshed and happy?”
Ruth did not answer. “Be comforted,” continued the wailer; “we shall reach our destination by noon, and there we shall all delight to serve you. Here, Tabni,” rousing the “charmer” with a kick, “go on deck, bring the lady some sweet wine and the cakes of fine barley I provided. She is faint.”
Grumbling, and rubbing his eyes, the other was about to comply, when a frightful howl from the deck above made captors and captive startle together. A second howl was followed by a distant shout and yell, then in turn by a furious clatter of the oars upon their thole-pins.
“Marduk defend us!” cried Binit, the most frightened of the three, “what happens? Up, Tabni—” more words were drowned by the simultaneous bellows of the six boatmen, “Save, O Nergal, save!” all the time they were working their sweeps like madmen, while the great sail came down with a crash that made the barge quiver from stem to stern.
Tabni thrust his head from the hatchway, cast his single eye about in the morning half-light, then added his voice to the yell of terror.
“Will you destroy me?” implored Binit. “What has befallen?” But Ruth lay perfectly still; at that moment she was thinking that no human ill could make her condition worse.
Tabni dropped from his station, his face the colour of a whited tile. His jaws twitched so that he could scarce utter a syllable; then came two words, “River thieves!”
“River thieves?” groaned Binit, leaping up as if she had sat on an adder.