The chariot of the “civil-minister” clattered away, and Isaiah stood
for a long time in gloomy revery. Ever since Nabonidus had been thrust
from power, the condition of the Hebrews had been growing steadily more
miserable. Belshazzar was in all things guided by Avil-Marduk, and the
high pontiff’s rage against the Jehovah worship of the exiles was nothing
new. Shadrach, Isaiah’s father, had been a fellow-minister with Daniel,
but the liberal sway of Nebuchadnezzar was long since past. Isaiah saw
himself shut out of every office, so long as he clung to the God of his
people. Amongst his fellow-Hebrews Isaiah had passed as a prophet; in
moments of ecstasy he had poured forth burning words,—of encouragement to
the faithful, of threatenings to the oppressor, of promised restoration
to that dear Jerusalem he had seen only in his dreams. But at this moment
the dreams seemed shadowy indeed. The events of the day had darkened
him utterly; and, crowding upon Avil’s scarce veiled threat, came the
tidings of the king’s unholy lusting after Ruth! The young man’s heart
was sickened. How could he sit with smiling face, and listen to his love,
and her merry nothings? The task was seemingly impossible, when the sweet
voice sounded again from the casement. “Ah! my wandering swallow, why
linger? Up quickly! Say something to make me glad. I am exceeding vexed
with my father.”
Merry or sad, the young man waited no second bidding. He sped up the
narrow stairway by the side of the court, and reached the upper veranda.
Here a sort of balcony, overhanging the yard, had been walled with
curtains of blue Egyptian stuffs, and behind had been set a tall loom,
its frame half filled with a web of bright wools, where a brilliant rug
was unfolding under skilful fingers. Two dark-eyed Arabian girls were
aiding their mistress; but at sight of Isaiah, the red thread shook from
her lap, and she flew twittering into his arms. Then like two birds
they cooed together, their eyes talking faster than their lips; and at
last—for all things lovely must find end—Isaiah was in his accustomed
seat, a cushioned footstool beside the loom, and there he could sit and
chatter while the broad web grew.
But Ruth was in no mood for small talk. Her little lips were wrinkled in
a pout, the cast of her eye was sulky. And while she wrought over the
loom, her fountain of wrath was emptied.
“Were I not an obedient daughter of Israel, I should say unholy things of
my good father. Surely Jehovah forsakes us and suffers him to wax mad!”
“Daniel mad? He has the sagest head in all Babylon. Fie, little owlet!”
“Either he is mad or worse. There!” the red-thonged sandals over the
small feet stamped angrily, “I will tell all, though it be a sin to
revile a parent.”
“Verily, for _you_ to be wroth with your father must spring from no
slight cause!” protested Isaiah, feebly attempting to smile.
“Is it not sufficient that I must be kept precious as a finch in his
cage?—never suffered to go forth to any of the fêtes at the palace,
veiled always, when I sally abroad, and guarded as if I were a prisoner
about to make escape?”
“Old tales, Ruth,”—Isaiah strove to speak lightly; then more gravely,
“Was the last time we sallied forth, and met the lion and the king, so
joyous that you wish it repeated daily?”
He saw her shudder, and her mouth twitched, as he recalled that scene;
but she was too thoroughly filled with wrath even to let that memory turn
her.
“Not so—let my father send fifty servants about me, and wrap my face in
twoscore veils! But now I am made utter prisoner. Yesterday I visited the
bazaars with Gedeliah, our body-servant; and in the jeweller’s shop of
Binzurbasna by the Gate of Istar I saw an armlet that fitted my eye as
water its cup. I had no money, but last night my father gave me more than
the price. To-day Gedeliah starts at dawn with a letter to Kisch. Later
I say, ‘Father, I will take another servant and go and buy the armlet.’
He makes all manner of objections to my going. ‘Let the serving-man go;
do you remain.’ ‘No,’ answered I, ‘only Gedeliah and I can tell which is
the armlet; if I wait, it is sold.’ I beseech exceedingly, whereupon he
says, after his firm manner: ‘Peace, Ruth; I know what is well for you.
You shall not go to-day.’ Then he summons his chariot, and departs to
Borsippa. Have I no cause for anger?”
Isaiah did not reply immediately; and she returned to the charge.
“Speak,—are you so jealous that no man may set eyes on the hem of my
mantle? Speak!” And she snapped her bright eyes before his.
“Your father is a wise man,” began Isaiah, cautiously; “assuredly he had
reasons.”
“Which clearly you agree in?” pressed she, sharply.
“I said not that; though, were he to tell, no doubt they would seem
sufficient.”
“He has not told them? What passed then so slyly, when you stood
together?”
Isaiah had boasted that in a city where the clever liar was deemed the
sage, he had been wont to speak truly; but he found himself close to
equivocation.
“We spoke of the increasing power of Avil. Your father grows anxious.”
“And was not _my_ name mentioned once, twice?”
Ruth had turned from the loom, and was looking Isaiah in the face.
“You did wrong to eavesdrop,” he faltered, nigh desperately, for
falsehood tripped hardest off his tongue when those soft eyes were on him.
“No answer,” she challenged, lowering her head till her curls almost
brushed his cheek. “Speak! Why did you use my name?”
“You must have confidence in us,” began Isaiah, putting on manly
austerity, “to believe that whatever we said was only for your good.”
A tart retort was tingling on her tongue, when a voice from the court
interrupted. “Ho! Is the young master Isaiah above?”
It was the old porter’s call; the other responded instantly.
“Since my Lord Daniel is away,” went on the porter, “will my young master
come down at once? His friend, the guardsman Zerubbabel, is here, and
demands instant speech of weighty matters.”
Isaiah was down the stairs by leaps. In the court he met a young man of
about his own age, comely and erect, dressed in the short mantle of a
soldier off duty.
“Where is my Lord Daniel?” was his quick demand; he was breathless with
running.
“Has none told? Gone to Borsippa.”
“Jehovah God have mercy!”
Isaiah caught his friend by the arm.
“Hold, Zerubbabel; gain breath, and speak to the point. Your wits are all
scattered on the road behind!”
The guardsman took a deep breath.
“Be a man, Isaiah,” he admonished, as if speaking sorely against his
will; “I have a heavy piece of news for you.”
“Touching Ruth?”
Zerubbabel nodded. “You have heard that the king had designs on her. Did
you know Mermaza was to make an attempt on her this very night?”
His voice had risen, despite Isaiah’s warning “Hush!” They heard a little
cry on the balcony above—a louder scream. Isaiah clapped his hands to his
face. “The Lord spare her now!—she has heard it!”
The next instant Ruth was beside them. She was trembling; her hand
quivered in her lover’s while he held it, yet it seemed as much in anger
as in dread, though her face had blanched to the whiteness of a summer’s
cloud.
“Tell me all! All! Do you think me too weak to bear?” was her plea,
turning her great eyes from the soldier to Isaiah and back again. “What
danger waits?”
The young prophet’s voice grew very calm.
“Beloved, blessing and bane come from the Lord God alike. He can do
nothing ill. Let us listen to Zerubbabel.”
The guardsman’s speech came falteringly,—no joy to chase the gladness
from those bright eyes.
“Daughter of Daniel, I know that your father reproaches me for having
conformed to the Babylonish worship, and taken service on the royal
guard; but, believe me, my heart is still faithful to Jehovah. At no
small peril have I come here, to warn you. You, O Isaiah, have not been
without an inkling; but did you know that Belshazzar has given his royal
signet to Mermaza, chief of the eunuchs, commanding him—”
Before he could utter another word, a bitter cry had burst from Ruth:
“Would God I had been unborn, or died while yet a speechless child, than
win the love of Belshazzar. For the love of the king is tenfold more
cruel than his hate. Slay me; slay now, rather than let the eunuchs lay
hands on me!” So she cried in her sudden agony; and what might Isaiah say
to comfort her? She could only feel the muscles of his arms grow hard as
iron, as she leaned against his breast.
“Fear not,” he answered, with that confidence born of a touch and a
thrill that can make the weakling giant strong; “were Belshazzar seven
times the king he is, he shall never do you harm.”
“So be it!” quoth Zerubbabel, gravely, “yet the proof is close at hand.
It is as I said. Mermaza has received an order, signed by the royal
signet, authorizing him to take Ruth, the daughter of Daniel, when there
may be ‘convenient opportunity’—which is to say, when no disturbance will
arise likely to hamper Avil-Marduk and his plots.”
“How know you this?” demanded Isaiah, almost fiercely.
“One of the eunuchs, whose life Daniel had once begged of Nabonidus, told
me. I more than fear that my visit to this house has been observed, and
will be laid up against me.”
“And what hinders the ‘profoundly-to-be-reverenced’ chief eunuch from
coming this moment, with his Majesty’s ring and order, and carrying away
the maid perforce? Does not Belshazzar command all the sword-hands in
Babylon?” pressed Isaiah, in cutting irony.
Zerubbabel smiled bitterly. “Even a king must know some restraints. He
has passed his word to Darius, the Persian envoy, that the maid shall
not be touched. What if Darius heard of the kidnapping! Would he trust
Belshazzar’s professions of friendship longer? And Daniel is popular
with the city folk. Enter his house at mid-day, and let some outcry
rise,—behold! there is a riot in the streets.”
“Therefore the attempt will be made this evening, when all is quiet?”
Zerubbabel bowed gloomily. “You have said.”
Isaiah shot one glance at the shadow cast by the tall “time-staff” set in
the centre of the courtyard.
“It lacks three hours of sundown. There is yet time!” he cried.
But Ruth had suddenly steadied herself, and looked from one young man to
the other. Her voice was very shrill.
“Who am I to make you rush into peril for my poor sake? If you hide me
from the king, his fury will turn against you, and against my father.
How can you save me? Go to Mermaza. Tell him he may take me when he
wills. I can endure all rather than ruin those I love.”
She stood before her lover with head erect, eyes flashing. The glory of
a great sacrifice had sent the colour crimsoning through her cheeks.
If beautiful before, how much more beautiful now, in the sight of her
betrothed! Had she counted the cost of her word? No, doubtless; but for
the moment she was the girl no more, but the strong woman ready to dare
and to do all.
But Isaiah answered her with a sternness never shown by him to her till
now: “Peace! You know not what you say. What profit is my life, with you
sent to a living death in Belshazzar’s impure clutch? There is but one
thing left.”
“Away! Leave me!” she implored, new agony chasing across her face. “Is it
not enough that I should be victim? Those who cross Belshazzar’s path are
seekers for death.”
“Peace!” repeated Isaiah, and not ungently he thrust his hand across her
mouth. “Must the whole house hear us? You, Zerubbabel, indeed, begone.
You can only add to your peril, not aid.”
The guardsman hesitated. “If I can do aught—” he began.
“Avoid suspicion,” commanded Isaiah; “if you learn of anything new
plotted, forewarn. In so doing you prove truest friend.”
“The Lord God keep you, dear lady,” protested the guardsman, kissing her
robe; “believe me, I am your and your father’s friend, though men say I
bow down to Bel-Marduk.”
He had vanished; and Isaiah looked upon Ruth, and Ruth back to Isaiah.
The peril had broken upon her so suddenly that she was yet numbed. She
had not realized all she had to fear, and the ordeal awaiting. But if her
lover realized, he proved his anguish by act, not word.
“Ruth,” spoke he, “your father knew the king had not forgotten you,
though that the deed was planned so soon was hid. He has ridden to
Borsippa to see if Imbi-Ilu will shelter you at the temple of Nabu. If we
await his return, it will be too late. The shadows are falling already.
You must quit this house without delay.”
“I am ready,” she answered, but she spoke mechanically, not knowing what
she said.
Old Simeon, the porter, had approached, his honest face all anxiety for
his betters. “My mistress is in trouble? Zerubbabel brought ill news?” he
ventured, not presuming more. But Isaiah ordered sharply:—
“Let the closed carriage be made ready at once.”
“The closed carriage? For the mistress? My Lord Daniel commanded—”
hesitated the worthy; but Isaiah’s tone grew peremptory. “Daniel’s
commands weigh nothing now. Were he here, he would order the same. No
questions; hasten.”
The stern ring in the young man’s voice ended all parley. Simeon shuffled
away to rouse the stable grooms, and Isaiah turned once more to Ruth.
“Beloved, we must drive to Borsippa at once. Take what clothes you need,
nothing else. No tarrying. Each instant is worth a talent.”
“And this house? The room of my mother? The thousand things of my glad
life—all left behind?”
The tears would come again. Ruth was weeping now—bitterly, but not from
dread of Belshazzar. Events had raced too fast these last few moments to
leave room for the greatest griefs or fears.
“Trust that Jehovah will send you back to them, in the fulness of His
mercy. He is more pitiful than even Daniel your father.”
She did as bidden; in the turmoil of emotions, at least some sorrows were
spared her. The maid-servants stared at their mistress, as she flew about
her well-loved chambers. The little bundle was soon ready,—so little! And
so many girlish delights and trinkets all left behind. Isaiah’s voice
was summoning her. The carriage was waiting in the yard. Daniel had not
taken his swift pair of black Arabs in the chariot, and for these Isaiah
thanked his God!
Ruth darted one glance about the court—the well-known balcony, the
drapery hiding the loom, the swallows flitting in and out of the eaves, a
thousand dear and homely things, so familiar she had forgotten how much
she loved them—one last sight; when could she see them again?
“The servants,—my friends,—I must say farewell,” she pleaded; but Isaiah
shook his head.
“You must leave with as little commotion as possible. The Most High grant
we have not tarried too long!” He lifted her almost perforce, and thrust
her upon the soft cushions inside the carriage. She heard him tying the
door to the wicker body, to secure against sudden and unfriendly opening.
The only light that came to her was from the little latticed window in
the roof, through which she could see only sky. She heard Isaiah leap
upon the driver’s platform, in front, beside Abner, one of the stoutest
and trustiest of her father’s serving-men. The courtyard gate creaked
open. The carriage rumbled forth. “Abner,” sounded Isaiah’s voice, “if
ever you drove with speed, drive now. To Borsippa, to the temple of Nabu!”
The lash cracked; the restless horses shot away eagerly, the heavy
carriage lumbering behind. Soon all around them buzzed the traffic of the
streets. Onward, onward they drove, till Ruth ceased counting the time.
Then at last the truth and her wretchedness fully dawned on her. She felt
a weakness, a misery words may not express. She laid her head on the
cushions and wept, as might a little girl.
[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF NABU]