air, 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
approachi