and the cause we both serve, I will accept thy offer.  Yet since thou
hast summoned the Most High as a witness and He hears me, I, too, will
not withhold one iota of the truth.  The Lord Himself has summoned me to
the office of commander of the fighting-men which thou dost desire to
commit to me.  It was done through Miriam, thy wife, and is my due.  Yet
I recognize thy willingness to yield thy dignity to me as a praiseworthy
deed, since I know how hard it is for a man to resign power, especially
in favor of a younger one whom he does not love.  Thou hast done this,
and I am grateful.  I, too, have thought of thee with secret rancor; for
through thee I lost another possession harder for a man to renounce than
office: the love of woman."

The hot blood mounted into Hur's cheeks, as he exclaimed:

"Miriam!  I did not force her into marriage; nay I did not even purchase
her, according to the custom of our fathers, with the bridal dowry--she
became my wife of her own free will."

"I know it," replied Joshua quietly, "yet there was one man who had
yearned to make her his longer and more ardently than thou, and the fire
of jealousy burned fiercely in his heart.  But have no anxiety; for wert
thou now to give her a letter of divorce and lead her to me that I might
open my arms and tent to receive her, I would exclaim:

"Why hast thou done this thing to thyself and to me?  For a short time
ago I learned what woman's love is, and that I was mistaken when I
believed Miriam shared the ardor of my heart.  Besides, during the march
with fetters on my feet, in the heaviest misfortune, I vowed to devote
all the strength and energy of soul and body to the welfare of our
people.  Nor shall the love of woman turn me from the great duty I have
taken upon myself.  As for thy wife, I shall treat her as a stranger
unless, as a prophetess, she summons me to announce a new message from
the Lord."

With these words he held out his hand to his companion and, as Hur
grasped it, loud voices were heard from the fighting-men, for messengers
were climbing the mountain, who, shouting and beckoning, pointed to the
vast cloud of dust that preceded the march of the tribes.




CHAPTER XXV.

The Hebrews came nearer and nearer, and many of the young combatants
hastened to meet them.  These were not the joyous bands, who had joined
triumphantly in Miriam's song of praise, no, they tottered toward the
mountain slowly, with drooping heads.  They were obliged to scale the
pass from the steeper side, and how the bearers sighed; how piteously the
women and children wailed, how fiercely the drivers swore as they urged
the beasts of burden up the narrow, rugged path; how hoarsely sounded the
voices of the half fainting men as they braced their shoulders against
the carts to aid the beasts of burden.

These thousands who, but a few short days before, had so gratefully felt
the saving mercy of the Lord, seemed to Joshua, who stood watching their
approach, like a defeated army.

But the path they had followed from their last encampment, the harbor by
the Red Sea, was rugged, arid, and to them, who had grown up among the
fruitful plains of Lower Egypt, toilsome and full of terror.

It had led through the midst of the bare rocky landscape, and their eyes,
accustomed to distant horizons and luxuriant green foliage, met narrow
boundaries and a barren wilderness.

Since passing through the Gate of Baba, they had beheld on their way
through the valley of the same name and their subsequent pilgrimage
through the wilderness of Sin, nothing save valleys with steep precipices
on either side.  A lofty mountain of the hue of death had towered, black
and terrible, above the reddish-brown slopes, which seemed to the
wanderers like the work of human hands, for the strata of stones rose at
regular intervals.  One might have supposed that the giant builders whose
hands had toiled here in the service of the Sculptor of the world had
been summoned away ere they had completed the task, which in this
wilderness had no searching eye to fear and seemed destined for the
service of no living creature.  Grey and brown granite cliffs and ridges
rose on both sides of the path, and in the sand which covered it lay
heaps of small bits of red porphyry and coal-black stones that seemed as
if they had been broken by the blows of a hammer and resembled the dross
from which metal had been melted.  Greenish masses of rock, most peculiar
in form, surrounded  the narrow, cliff circled mountain valleys, which
opened into one another.  The ascending path pierced them; and often the
Hebrews, as they entered, feared that the lofty cliffs in the distance
would compel them to return.  Then murmurs and lamentations arose, but
the mode of egress soon appeared and led to another rock-valley.

On departing from the harbor at the Red Sea they had often found thorny
gum acacias and an aromatic desert plant, which the animals relished; but
the farther they entered the rocky wilderness, the more scorching and
arid the sand became, and at last the eye sought in vain for herbs and
trees.

At Elim fresh springs and shade-giving palms were found, and at the Red
Sea there were well-filled cisterns; but here at the camp in the
wilderness of Sin nothing had been discovered to quench the thirst, and
at noon it seemed as though an army of spiteful demons had banished every
inch of shade cast by the cliffs; for every part of the valleys and
ravines blazed and glowed, and nowhere was there the slightest protection
from the scorching sun.

The last water brought with them had been distributed among the human
beings and animals, and when the procession started in the morning not a
drop could be found to quench their increasing thirst.

Then the old doubting rancor and rebelliousness took possession of the
multitude.  Curses directed against Moses and the elders, who had led
them from the comfort of well-watered Egypt to this misery, never ceased;
but when they climbed the pass of the "Swordpoint" their parched throats
had become too dry for oaths and invectives.

Messengers from old Nun, Ephraim, and Hur had already informed the
approaching throngs that the young men had gained a victory and liberated
Joshua and the other captives; but their discouragement had become so
great that even this good news made little change, and only a flitting
smile on the bearded lips of the men, or a sudden flash of the old light
in the dark eyes of the women appeared.

Miriam, accompanied by melancholy Milcah, had remained with her
companions instead of, as usual, calling upon the women to thank the Most
High.

Reuben, the husband of her sorrowful ward whom fear of disappointment
still deterred from yielding to his newly-awakened hopes, was a quiet,
reticent man, so the first messenger did not know whether he was among
the liberated prisoners.  But great excitement overpowered Milcah and,
when Miriam bade her be patient, she hurried from one playmate to another
assailing them with urgent questions.  When even the last could give her
no information concerning the husband she had loved and lost, she burst
into loud sobs and fled back to the prophetess.  But she received little
consolation, for the woman who was expecting to greet her own husband as
a conqueror and see the rescued friend of her childhood, was absent-
minded and troubled, as if some heavy burden oppressed her soul.

Moses had left the tribes as soon as he learned that the attack upon the
mines had succeeded and Joshua was rescued; for it had been reported that
the warlike Amalekites, who dwelt in the oasis at the foot of Mt. Sinai,
were preparing to resist the Hebrews' passage through their well-watered
tract in the wilderness with its wealth of palms.  Accompanied by a few
picked men he set off across the mountains in quest of tidings, expecting
to join his people between Alush and Rephidim in the valley before the
oasis.

Abidan, the head of the tribe of Benjamin, with Hur and Nun, the princes
of Judah and Ephraim after their return from the mines--were to represent
him and his companions.

As the people approached the steep pass Hur, with more of the rescued
prisoners, came to meet them, and hurrying in advance of all the rest was
young Reuben, Milcah's lost husband.  She had recognized him in the
distance as he rushed down the mountain and, spite of Miriam's protest,
darted into the midst of the tribe of Simeon which marched in front of
hers.

The sight of their meeting cheered many a troubled spirit and when at
last, clinging closely to each other, they hurried to Miriam and the
latter beheld the face of her charge, it seemed as though a miracle had
been wrought; for the pale lily had become in the hue of her cheeks a
blooming rose.  Her lips, too, which she had but rarely and timidly
opened for a question or an answer, were in constant motion; for how much
she desired to know, how many questions she had to ask the silent husband
who had endured such terrible suffering.

They were a handsome, happy pair, and it seemed to them as if, instead of
passing naked rocks over barren desert paths, they were journeying
through a vernal landscape where springs were gushing and birds carolling
their songs.

Miriam, who had done everything in her power to sustain the grieving
wife, was also cheered by the sight of her happiness.  But every trace
of joyous sympathy soon vanished from her features; for while Reuben and
Milcah, as if borne on wings, seemed scarcely to touch the soil of the
wilderness, she moved forward with drooping head, oppressed by the
thought that it was her own fault that no like happiness could bloom
for her in this hour.

She told herself that she had made a sore sacrifice, worthy of the
highest reward and pleasing in the sight of God, when she refused to obey
the voice of her heart, yet she could not banish from her memory the
dying Egyptian who had denied her right to be numbered among those who
loved Hosea, the woman who for his sake had met so early a death.

She, Miriam, lived, yet she had killed the most fervent desire of her
soul; duty forbade her thinking with ardent longing of him who lingered
up yonder, devoted to the cause of his people and the God of his fathers,
a free, noble man, perhaps the future leader of the warriors of her race,
and if Moses so appointed, next to him the first and greatest of all the
Hebrews, but lost, forever lost to her.

Had she on that fateful night obeyed the yearning of her woman's heart
and not the demands of the vocation which placed her far above all other
women, he would long since have clasped her in his arms, as quiet Reuben
embraced his poor, feeble Milcah, now so joyous as she walked stoutly at
his side.

What thoughts were these?

She must drive them back to the inmost recesses of her heart, seek to
crush them; for it was a sin for her to long so ardently to meet another.
She wished for her husband's presence, as a saviour from herself and the
forbidden desires of this terrible hour.

Hur, the prince of the tribe of Judah, was her husband, not the former
Egyptian, the liberated captive.  What had she to ask from the
Ephraimite, whom she had forever refused?

Why should it hurt her that the liberated prisoner did not seek her; why
did she secretly cherish the foolish hope that momentous duties detained
him?

She scarcely saw or heard what was passing around her, and Milcah's
grateful greeting to her husband first informed her that Hur was
approaching.

He had waved his hand to her while still afar, but he came alone, without
Hosea or Joshua, she cared not what the rescued man called himself; and
it angered her to feel that this hurt her, nay, pierced her to the heart.
Yet she esteemed her elderly husband and it was not difficult for her to
give him a cordial welcome.

He answered her greeting joyously and tenderly; but when she pointed to
the re-united pair and extolled him as victor and deliverer of Reuben and
so many hapless men, he frankly owned that he had no right to this
praise, it was the due of "Joshua," whom she herself had summoned in the
name of the Most High to command the warriors of the people.

Miriam turned pale and, in spite of the steepness of the road, pressed
her husband with questions.  When she heard that Joshua was resting on
the heights with his father and the young men and refreshing themselves
with wine, and that Hur had promised to resign voluntarily, if Moses
desired to entrust the command to him, her heavy eye-brows contracted in
a gloomy frown beneath her broad forehead and, with curt severity, she
exclaimed:

"You are my lord, and it is not seemly for me to oppose you, not even if
you forget your own wife so far that you give place to the man who once
ventured to raise his eyes to her."

"He no longer cares for you," Hur eagerly interrupted; "nay, were I to
give you a letter of divorce, he would no longer desire to possess you."

"Would he not?"  asked Miriam with a forced smile.  "Do you owe this
information to him?"

"He has devoted himself, body and soul, to the welfare of the people and
renounces the love of woman," replied Hur.  But his wife exclaimed:

"Renunciation is easy, where desire would bring nothing save fresh
rejection and shame.  Not to him who, in the hour of the utmost peril,
sought aid from the Egyptians is the honor of the chief command of the
warriors due, but rather to you, who led the tribes to the first victory
at the store-house in Succoth and to whom the Lord Himself, through Moses
His servant, confided the command."

Hur looked anxiously at the woman for whom a late, fervent love had fired
his heart, and seeing her glowing cheeks and hurried breathing, knew not
whether to attribute these symptoms to the steep ascent or to the
passionate ambition of her aspiring soul, which she now transferred to
him, her husband.

That she held him in so much higher esteem than the younger hero, whose
return he had dreaded, pleased him, but he had grown grey in the strict
fulfilment of duty, and would not deviate from what he considered right.
His mere hints had been commands to the wife of his youth whom he had
borne to the grave a few years before, and as yet he had encountered no
opposition from Miriam.  That Joshua was best fitted to command the
fighting-men of the people was unquestionable, so he answered, with
panting breath, for the ascent taxed his strength also:

"Your good opinion is an honor and a pleasure to me; but even should
Moses and the elders confer the chief command upon me, remember the heap
of stones at Succoth and my vow.  I have ever been mindful of and shall
keep it."

Miriam looked angrily aside, and said nothing more till they had reached
the summit of the pass.

The victorious youths were greeting their approaching kindred with loud
shouts.

The joy of meeting, the provisions captured, and the drink which, though
sparingly distributed, was divided among the greatest sufferers, raised
the drooping courage of the exhausted wayfarers; and the thirsting
Hebrews shortened the rest at the summit of the pass in order to reach
Dophkah more quickly.  They had heard from Joshua that they would find
there not only ruined cisterns, but also a hidden spring whose existence
had been revealed to him by the ex-captain of the prisoners' guards.

The way led down the mountain.  "Haste" was the watchword of the fainting
Hebrews on their way to a well; and thus, soon after sunset, they reached
the valley of the turquoise mines, where they encamped around the hill
crowned by the ruined fortress and burned store-houses of Dophkah.

The spring in an acacia grove dedicated to the goddess Hathor was
speedily found, and fire after fire was quickly lighted.  The wavering
hearts which, in the desert of Sin, had been on the verge of despair were
again filled with the anticipation of life, hope, and grateful faith.
The beautiful acacias, it is true, had been felled to afford easier
access to the spring whose refreshing waters had effected this wonderful
change.

At the summit of the pass Joshua and Miriam had met again, but found time
only for a hasty greeting.  In the camp they were brought into closer
relations.

Joshua had appeared among the people with his father.  The heir of the
princely old man who was held in such high esteem received joyous
greetings from all sides, and his counsel to form a vanguard of the
youthful warriors, a rear-guard of the older ones, and send out chosen
bands of the former on reconnoitering expeditions was readily adopted.

He had a right to say that he was familiar with everything pertaining to
the guidance and defence of a large army.  God Himself had entrusted him
with the chief command, and Moses, by sending him the monition to be
strong and steadfast, had confirmed the office.  Hur, too, who now
possessed it, was willing to transfer it to him, and this man's promise
was inviolable, though he had omitted to repeat it in the presence of the
elders.  Joshua was treated as if he held the chief command, and he
himself felt his own authority supreme.

After the assembly dispersed, Hur had invited him, spite of the late
hour, to go to his tent and the warrior accompanied him, for he desired
to talk with Miriam.  He would show her, in her husband's presence, that
he had found the path which she had so zealously pointed out to him.

In the presence of another's wife the tender emotions of a Hebrew were
silent.  Hur's consort must be made aware that he, Joshua, no longer
cherished any love for her.  Even in his solitary hours, he had wholly
ceased to think of her.

He confessed that she was a noble, a majestic woman, but the very memory
of this grandeur now sent a chill through his veins.

Her actions, too, appeared in a new light.  Nay, when at the summit of
the pass she had greeted him with a cold smile, he felt convinced that
they were utterly estranged from one another, and this feeling grew
stronger and stronger beside the blazing fire in the stately tent of the
chief, where they met a second time.

The rescued Reuben and his wife Milcah had deserted Miriam long before
and, during her lonely waiting, many thoughts had passed through her mind
which she meant to impress upon the man to whom she had granted so much
that its memory now weighed on her heart like a crime.

We are most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust,
and this woman regarded the gift of her love as something so great,
so precious, that it behooved even the man whom she had rejected never
to cease to remember it with gratitude.  But Joshua had boasted that he
no longer desired, even were she offered to him, the woman whom he had
once so fervently loved and clasped in his embrace.  Nay, he had
confirmed this assertion by leisurely waiting, without seeking her.

At last he came, and in company with her husband, who was ready to cede
his place to him.

But she was present, ready to watch with open eyes for the welfare of the
too generous Hur.

The elderly man, to whose fate she had linked her own, and whose faithful
devotion touched her, should be defrauded by no rival of the position
which was his due, and which he must retain, if only because she rebelled
against being the wife of a man who could no longer claim next to her
brothers the highest rank in the tribes.

Never before had the much-courted woman, who had full faith in her gift
of prophesy, felt so bitter, sore, and irritated.  She did not admit it
even to herself, yet it seemed as if the hatred of the Egyptians with
which Moses had inspired her, and which was now futile, had found a new
purpose and was directed against the only man whom she had ever loved.

But a true woman can always show kindness to everyone whom she does not
scorn, so though she blushed deeply at the sight of the man whose kiss
she had returned, she received him cordially, and with sympathetic
questions.

Meanwhile, however, she addressed him by his former name Hosea, and when
he perceived it was intentional, he asked if she had forgotten that it
was she herself who, as the confidante of the Most High, had commanded
him henceforward to call himself "Joshua."

Her features grew sharper with anxiety as she replied that her memory was
good but he reminded her of a time which she would prefer to forget.  He
had himself forfeited the name the Lord had given him by preferring the
favor of the Egyptians to the help which God had promised.  Faithful to
the old custom, she would continue to call him "Hosea."

The honest-hearted soldier had not expected such hostility, but he
maintained a tolerable degree of composure and answered quietly that he
would rarely afford her an opportunity to address him by this or any
other name.  Those who were his friends readily adopted that of Joshua.

Miriam replied that she, too, would be ready to do so if her husband
approved and he himself insisted upon it; for the name was only a
garment.  Of course offices and honors were another matter.

When Joshua then declared that he still believed God Himself had summoned
him, through the lips of His prophetess, to command the Hebrew soldiers
and that he would admit the right of no one save Moses to deprive him of
his claim to this office, Hur assented and held out his hand to him.

Then Miriam dropped the restraint she had hitherto imposed on herself
and, with defiant eagerness, continued:

"There I am of a different opinion.  You did not obey the summons of the
Most High.  Can you deny this?  And when the Omnipresent One found you at
the feet of Pharaoh, instead of at the head of His people, He deprived
you of the office with which He had entrusted you.  He, the mightiest of
generals, summoned the tempest and the waves, and they swallowed up the
foe.  So perished those who were your friends till their heavy fetters
made you realize their true disposition toward you and your race.  But I,
meanwhile, was extolling the mercy of the Most High, and the people
joined in my hymn of praise.  On that very day the Lord summoned another
to command the fighting-men in your stead, and that other, as you know,
is my husband.  If Hur has never learned the art of war, God will surely
guide his arm, and it is He and none other who bestows victory.

"My husband--hear it again--is the sole commander of the hosts and if,
in the abundance of his generosity, he has forgotten it, he will retain
his office when he remembers whose hand chose him, and when I, his wife,
raise my voice and recall it to his memory."

Joshua turned to go, in order to end the painful discussion, but Hur
detained him, protesting that he was deeply incensed by his wife's
unseemly interference in the affairs of men, and that he insisted on his
promise.  "A woman's disapproving words were blown away by the wind.  It
would be Moses' duty to declare whom Jehovah had chosen to be commander."

While making this reply Hur had gazed at his wife with stern dignity, as
if admonishing discretion, and the look seemed to have effected its
purpose; for Miriam had alternately flushed and paled as she listened;
nay, she even detained the guest by beckoning him with a trembling hand
to approach, as though she desired to soothe him.

"Let me say one thing more," she began, drawing a long breath, "that you
may not misunderstand my meaning.  I call everyone our friend who devotes
himself to the cause of the people, and how self-sacrificingly you intend
to do this, Hur has informed me.  It was your confidence in Pharaoh's
favor that parted us--therefore I know how to prize your firm and
decisive breach with the Egyptians, but I did not correctly estimate the
full grandeur of this deed until I learned that not only long custom, but
other bonds, united you to the foe."

"What is the meaning of these words?"  replied Joshua, convinced that she
had just fitted to the bowstring another shaft intended to wound him.
But Miriam, unheeding the question, calmly continued with a defiant
keenness of glance that contradicted her measured speech:

"After the Lord's guidance had delivered us from the enemy, the Red Sea
washed ashore the most beautiful woman we have seen for a long time.  I
bandaged the wound a Hebrew woman dealt her and she acknowledged that her
heart was filled with love for you, and that on her dying bed she
regarded you as the idol of her soul."

Joshua, thoroughly incensed, exclaimed: "If this is the whole truth, wife
of Hur, my father has given me a false report; for according to what I
heard from him, the hapless woman made her last confession only in the
presence of those who love me; not in yours.  And she was right to shun
you--you would never have understood her."

Here he saw a smile of superiority hover around Miriam's lips; but he
repelled it, as he went on:

"Ah, your intellect is tenfold  keener than  poor Kasana's ever was.  But
your heart, which was open to the Most High, had no room for love.  It
will grow old and cease to beat without having learned the feeling.  And,
spite of your flashing eyes, I will tell you you are more than a woman,
you are a prophetess.  I cannot boast of gifts so lofty.  I am merely a
plain man, who understands the art of fighting better than that of
foretelling the future.  Yet I can see what is to come.  You will foster
the hatred of me that glows in your breast, and will also implant it in
your husband's heart and zealously strive to fan it there.  And I know
why.  The fiery ambition which consumes you will not suffer you to be the
wife of a man who is second to any other.  You refuse to call me by the
name I owe to you.  But if hatred and arrogance do not stifle in your
breast the one feeling that still unites us--love for our people, the day
will come when you will voluntarily approach and, unasked, by the free
impulse of your heart, call me 'Joshua.'"

With these words he took leave of Miriam and her husband by a short wave
of the hand, and vanished in the darkness of the night.

Hur gazed gloomily after him in silence until the footsteps of the
belated guest had died away in the sleeping camp; then the ill-repressed
wrath of the grave man, who had hitherto regarded his young wife with
tender admiration, knew no bounds.

With two long strides he stood directly before her as she gazed with a
troubled look into the fire, her face even paler than his own.  His voice
had lost its metallic harmony, and sounded shrill and sharp as he
exclaimed:

"I had the courage to woo a maiden who supposed herself to be nearer to
God than other women, and now that she has become my wife she makes me
atone for such presumption."

"Atone?"  escaped Miriam's livid lips, and a defiant glance blazed at him
from her black eyes.  But, undismayed, he continued, grasping her hand
with so firm a pressure that it hurt her:

"Aye, you make me atone for it!--Shame on me, if I permit this
disgraceful hour to be followed by similar ones."

Miriam strove to wrest her hand from his clasp, but he would not release
it, and went on:

"I sought you, that you might be the pride of my house.  I expected to
sow honor, and I reap disgrace; for what could be more humiliating to
a man than to have a wife who rules him, who presumes to wound with
hostile words the heart of the friend who is protected by the laws of
hospitality?  A woman of different mould, a simple-hearted, upright wife,
who looked at her husband's past life, instead of planning how to
increase his greatness, that she might share it with him, need not have
had me shout into her ears that Hur has garnered honors and dignities
enough, during his long existence, to be able to spare a portion of them
without any loss of esteem.  It is not the man who holds the chief
command, but the one who shows the most self-sacrificing love for the
people that is greatest in the eyes of Jehovah.  You desire a high place,
you seek to be honored by the multitude as one who is summoned by the
Lord.  I shall not forbid it, so long as you do not forget what the duty
of a wife commands.  You owe me love also; for you vowed to give it on
your marriage day; but the human heart can bestow only what it possesses,
and Hosea is right when he says that love, which is warm itself and warms
others, is a feeling alien to your cold nature."

With these words he turned his back upon her and went to the dark portion
of the tent, while Miriam remained standing by the fire, whose flickering
light illumined her beautiful, pallid face.

With clenched teeth and hands pressed on her heaving bosom, she stood
gazing at the spot where he had disappeared.

Her grey-haired husband had confronted her in the full consciousness of
his dignity, a noble man worthy of reverence, a true, princely chief of
his tribe, and infinitely her superior.  His every word had pierced her
bosom like the thrust of a lance.  The power of truth had given each its
full emphasis and held up to Miriam a mirror that showed her an image
from which she shrank.

Now she longed to rush after him and beg him to restore the love with
which he had hitherto surrounded her--and which the lonely woman had
gratefully felt.

She knew that she could reciprocate his costly gift; for how ardently she
longed to have one kind, forgiving word from his lips.

Her soul seemed withered, parched, torpid, like a corn-field on which a
poisonous mildew has fallen; yet it had once been green and blooming.

She thought of the tilled fields in Goshen which, after having borne an
abundant harvest, remained arid and bare till the moisture of the river
came to soften the soil and quicken the seed which it had received.  So
it had been with her soul, only she had flung the ripening grain into the
fire and, with blasphemous hand, erected a dam between the fructifying
moisture and the dry earth.

But there was still time!

She knew that he erred in one respect; she knew she was like all other
women, capable of yearning with ardent passion for the man she loved.
It depended solely on herself to make him feel this in her arms.

Now, it is true, he was justified in thinking her harsh and unfeeling,
for where love had once blossomed in her soul, a spring of bitterness
now gushed forth poisoning all it touched.

Was this the vengeance of the heart whose ardent wishes she had
heroically slain?

God had disdained her sorest sacrifice; this it was impossible to doubt;
for His majesty was no longer revealed to her in visions that exalted the
heart, and she was scarcely entitled to call herself His prophetess.
This sacrifice had led her, the truth-loving woman, into falsehood and
plunged her who, in the consciousness of seeking the right path lived at
peace with herself, into torturing unrest.  Since that great and
difficult deed she, who had once been full of hope, had obtained nothing
for which she longed.  She, who recognized no woman as her superior, had
been obliged to yield in shame her place to a poor dying Egyptian.  She
had been kindly disposed toward all who were of her blood, and were
devoted to the sacred cause of her people, and now her hostile bitterness
had wounded one of the best and noblest.  The poorest bondman's wife
rejoiced to bind more and more closely the husband who had once loved
her--she had wickedly estranged hers.

Seeking protection she had approached his hearthstone shivering, but she
had found it warmer than she had hoped, and his generosity and love fell
upon her wounded soul like balm.  True, he could not restore what she had
lost, but he could give a welcome compensation.

Ah, he no longer believed her capable of a tender emotion, yet she needed
love in order to live, and no sacrifice seemed to her too hard to regain
his.  But pride was also a condition of her very existence, and whenever
she prepared to humbly open her heart to her husband, the fear of
humiliating herself overpowered her, and she stood as though spell-bound
till the blazing wood at her feet fell into smoking embers and darkness
surrounded her.

Then a strange anxiety stole over her.

Two bats, which had come from the mines and circled round the fire darted
past her like ghosts.  Everything urged her back to the tent, to her
husband, and with hasty resolution she entered the spacious room lighted
by a lamp.  But it was empty, and the female slave who received her said
that Hur would spend the time until the departure of the people with his
son and grandson.

A keen pang pierced her heart, and she lay down to rest with a sense of
helplessness and shame which she had not felt since her childhood.

A few hours after the camp was astir and when her husband, in the grey
dawn of morning, entered the tent with a curt greeting, pride again
raised its head and her reply sounded cold and formal.

He did not come alone; his son Uri was with him.

But he looked graver than was his wont; for the men of Judah had
assembled early and adjured him not to give up the chief command to any
man who belonged to another tribe.

This had been unexpected.  He had referred them to Moses' decision, and
his desire that it might be adverse to him was intensified, as his young
wife's self-reliant glance stirred fresh wrath in his soul.




CHAPTER XXVI.

Early the following morning the people resumed their march with fresh
vigor and renewed courage; but the little spring which, by digging, had
at last been forced to flow was completely exhausted.

However, its refusal to bestow a supply of water to take with them was of
no consequence; they expected to find another well at Alush.

The sun had risen in radiant majesty in a cloudless sky.  The light
showed its awakening power on the hearts of men, and the rocks and the
yellow sand of the road sparkled like the blue vault above.  The pure,
light, spicy air of the desert, cooled by the freshness of the night,
expanded the breasts of the wayfarers, and walking became a pleasure.

The men showed greater confidence, and the eyes of the women sparkled
more brightly than they had done for a long time; for the Lord had again
showed the people that He remembered them in their need; and fathers and
mothers gazed proudly at the sons who had conquered the foe.  Most of the
tribes had greeted in the band of prisoners some one who had long been
given up as lost, and it was a welcome duty to make amends for the
injuries the terrible forced labor had inflicted.  There was special
rejoicing, not only among the Ephraimites, but everywhere, over the
return of Joshua, as all, save the men of the tribe of Judah, now called
him, remembering the cheering promise the name conveyed.

The youths who under his command had put the Egyptians to rout, told
their relatives what manner of man the son of Nun was, how he thought of
everything and assigned to each one the place for which he was best
suited.  His eye kindled the battle spirit in every one on whom it fell,
and the foe retreated at his mere war-cry.

Those who spoke of old Nun and his grandson also did so with sparkling
eyes.  The tribe of Ephraim, whose lofty pretensions had been a source of
much vexation, was willingly allowed precedence on this march, and only
the men of Judah were heard to grumble.  Doubtless there was reason for
dissatisfaction; for Hur, the prince of their tribe, and his young wife
walked as if oppressed by a heavy burden; whoever asked them anything
would have been wiser to have chosen another hour.

So long as the sun's rays were oblique, there was still a little shade at
the edge of the sandstone rocks which bordered the road on both sides or
towered aloft in the center; and as the sons of Korah began a song of
praise, young and old joined in, and most gladly and gratefully of all
Milcah, now no longer pale, and Reuben, her happy, liberated husband.

The children picked up golden-yellow bitter apples, which having fallen
from the withered vines, lay by the wayside as if they had dropped from
the sky, and brought them to their parents.  But they were bitter as gall
and a morose old man of the tribe of Zebulun, who nevertheless kept their
firm shells to hold ointment, said:

"These are a symbol of to-day.  It looks pleasant now; but when the sun