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 p