The door opened. “The guard changes,” announced Zerubbabel; “away, quickly, or all is danger.”
Isaiah embraced the prisoner once, and followed the friendly guardsman out of the palace precinct. Then he wended his way alone back to the house of Dagan-Milki, through the silent streets of the capital.
At the schoolmaster’s door the good man himself confronted Isaiah with a beaming face and a voice that trembled with agitation.
“Glory, glory to every god! Praised be Nabu and Nergal! Compose yourself, my dear Isaiah, be collected; do not grow excited; bless your god with calmness—” but here the exhortations ended in a new shout of “Praised be the name of Bel-Marduk!” and Isaiah stared at Dagan, wondering if his kind host had been blighted in his wits.
“I would fain rejoice!” remonstrated he, coldly, for in his heart he was telling himself that he must have no other joy now save the labour for his people.
Dagan almost dragged him across the threshold, and led through the courtyard of the little house.
“Rejoice!” he was commanding, almost angrily, “rejoice! Do you not wish to be glad?” tugging Isaiah behind him, as he strode feverishly forward.
“Now, as Jehovah liveth!” protested the Jew, beginning to wax furious in turn, “shall I make merry against my will? Wherefore this cry, ‘rejoice,’ save for one dear thing the good God will not grant?”
“And will He not grant it?” fumed the schoolmaster, forcing on his unwilling companion. But while he spoke he felt Isaiah totter on his feet. By the light of the copper lamp he carried, Dagan saw the Jew’s face turn very pale.