from the depths of my soul; but--but I fear
him," faltered Zarah.

"Were you a Syrian you might say so," observed Hadassah, with a faint
approach to a smile; "but not as a daughter of Judah. Terrible as he
is to his country's foes, to armed oppressors, no maiden had ever cause
to dread Maccabeus. The sharp thorns of the cactus make it an
impenetrable fence which the strongest intruder cannot break through;
yet bears it brilliant flowers and refreshing fruit. The strong
war-horse tramples down the enemy in battle; but in peace the little
child unharmed may play with his mane. The bravest are the most
gentle. Judas is no exception to this rule. Pure-hearted and true, he
is one to make a woman happy."

Zarah sighed, and drooped her head.

"Was it not a proud moment for Achsah, when Othniel, after the conquest
of Kirjathsepher, claimed her hand as the victor's prize?" asked
Hadassah.

"But Achsah was the daughter of a Caleb," said Zarah. Then, raising
her head, she suddenly inquired--"Did my father also destine me to be
the bride of my kinsman?"

Hadassah winced at the question, as if a painful wound had been touched.

"Oh, my child, have pity on me," she faintly murmured, "and speak not
of him!"

Zarah had for long known that there was one subject which she dared
never approach. Her grandmother had, as it were, one locked chamber in
her heart, which no one might venture to open. Whether Zarah's father
were dead or not, the maiden knew not. She faintly remembered a tall,
handsome man, who had played with her tresses and danced her in his
arms when she was a child, in her early home at Bethsura; but since she
had left that home in company with her grandmother, she had never seen
him nor heard his name. The slightest allusion to her father by Zarah
had caused such distress to Hadassah, that the child had soon learned
to be silent, though not to forget. Hadassah often spoke of Miriam,
her only daughter, and of Zarah's own gentle mother--twin-roses, as she
would call them, both early gathered for heaven in the first year of
their wedded lives--but of her son she never would speak. A mystery
hung round the fate of Abner--such was his name--which his daughter
vainly longed to penetrate. Her heart reproached her now for the
unguarded question into which she had been surprised.

"Oh, forgive me, mother," said Zarah, kissing the hand of Hadassah,
which was tremulous and cold; "your word, your will, shall be e