e 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