THE DREAM.
At sunrise on the following morning two women were seated on the
ground, in the back part of a small flat-roofed house, situated in a
very secluded spot amongst the hills, not a mile from Jerusalem. They
sat opposite to each other, engaged--after the manner of the East--in
grinding corn, by moving round, by means of handles, the upper
millstone upon the nether one.
The room in which they were, if room it could be termed, was a narrow
place on the ground-floor, partitioned off from a larger apartment, and
devoted to holding stores, and other such domestic uses. Here corn was
ground, rice sifted from the husk, and occasionally weaving carried on.
Large bunches of raisins hung on the walls, jars of olive-oil and honey
were neatly ranged on the floor; nor lacked there stores of millet,
lentiles, and dried figs, such being the food on which chiefly
subsisted the dwellers in that lonely home. A curtain, now drawn aside
divided this store-place from the larger front room, which opened to
the road in front. It had a door communicating with a small patch of
cultivated ground behind, in which were a few flowers tended by women's
hands, the fairest clustering round a bright little spring which gushed
from the hill on whose steepest side the small habitation seemed to
nestle.
One of the women, busy with the laborious task of grinding, was a
Hebrew servant, past the prime of her days, but still strong to work;
the other was fair and young, her delicate frame, her slender fingers,
looking little suited for manual labour. With a very sad countenance
and a heavy heart sat Zarah that morning at the millstone, engaged in
her monotonous task. It was not that she was unwilling to spend her
strength in humble toil, or that she murmured because her grandmother
Hadassah had no longer men-servants and but one maid-servant to do her
bidding. Zarah had too much of the spirit of a Ruth to shrink from
work, or to complain of poverty, if shared with one who was to her as a
mother; nay, her cheerfulness at labour was wont to gush forth in song.
It was not a personal trial that now made the tears flow from Zarah's
lustrous eyes, as she slowly turned round the millstone; no selfish
sorrow drew heavy sighs from her bosom, as she murmured to herself,
"Oh, cruel--cruel!"
"Peace be unto you, my child. You are early, and it was late ere you
could retire to rest," said the voice of Hadassah, as, pale and sad in
aspect, the widow lady entered the apartment.
Zarah arose from her humble posture, approached her grandmother, first
meekly kissed the hem of her garment, and then received her tender
embrace.
"I could not sleep," faltered the maiden; "I dared not close my eyes
lest I should dream some dream of horror. Oh, ruthless Abishai, most
cruel of men! will not the All-merciful, who cares for the stranger,
require that young Greek's blood at his hand?"--Zarah covered her face
and wept.
"His was an unrighteous and wicked deed," said Hadassah.
"And it was I who betrayed the stranger," sobbed Zarah. "It was my
start and exclamation which directed the murderer's eyes to his place
of concealment! I shall never be happy again!"
"Nay, you did no wrong, my white dove," said Hadassah, tenderly drawing
the maiden closer to her bosom; "the guilt lies on the head of Abishai,
and on his head alone. Had he not been the beloved of my dead Miriam,
my only daughter, never more should that man of blood cross the
threshold of Hadassah."
"I never wish to look on Abishai again!" cried Zarah, with as much of
anger as her gentle nature was capable of feeling, flashing from under
her long dark lashes. "He might have trusted one whom Judas could
trust; the face of that Greek was a face which could not deceive;" and
the maiden added, but not aloud, "the stranger--when he stood with
folded arms, so calm, so beauteous, so noble, and bowed his head, and
said 'Content' when his life was trembling in the balance--looked to me
as one of the goodly angels that came to Sodom at eve! Better, if he
must needs die, that the Greek should have fallen by the javelin of my
brave kinsman Judas, than by the dagger of Abishai. Mother," cried
Zarah, suddenly raising her head, and looking into the face of Hadassah
with an earnest, pleading gaze, "may we not hope that the stranger's
soul has found mercy with God? How could the young Gentile worship One
whom he knew not?--his blindness was inherited from his parents--he did
not wilfully turn away from the light! Oh, say that you think that the
All-merciful has had compassion on the murdered Greek! did not the Lord
spare Nineveh--pitied He not even the little ones and the cattle?"
"I do think it--I do firmly believe it," said Hadassah, raising her
eyes towards heaven; "verily the dream that visited me last night must
have been sent to assure me of this."
"Tell me your dream, mother," cried Zarah, who always addressed by this
title the parent of her father.
"Come with me into the front room, my child; leave Anna to prepare our
pottage of lentiles, and I will tell you my dream," said Hadassah,
leading the way into what might, in a European dwelling, have been
called the sitting-room. This, with the place which they had just
quitted, and two sleeping apartments above, which were reached by a
rough stair on the exterior of the dwelling, constituted all the
accommodation of Hadassah's small house, if we except the flat roof,
surrounded by a parapet, often used by the ladies as a cool and airy
retreat.
Hadassah and her grand-daughter seated themselves in a half-reclining
posture upon skins that were spread on the tiled floor; and while Zarah
listened with glistening eyes, the Hebrew widow told her dream to the
maiden.
"Methought, in the visions of the night--for I snatched a brief hour of
repose after our return from the burial--I beheld two women before me.
They were both goodly to look upon, with a strange spiritual beauty not
seen on this side of the tomb. The feet of the women rested not on the
earth, but they gently floated above it; the air seemed purpled around
them, and fragrant with the odour of myrrh. The first woman bore in
her hand a scarlet cord, the other a bundle of golden corn.
"'Hadassah,' said the first, 'I am Rahab, of the doomed race of Canaan,
yet received as a daughter of Abraham. For the sake of David, born of
my line, and for the sake of Him who was the Root of Jesse (Isa. xi.
10) and shall be the Branch (Isa. xi. 1), have pity upon the stranger.'
"And the second woman, who was exceeding fair, spoke to me in like
manner: 'Hadassah, I am Ruth, of the guilty race of Moab, yet received
as a daughter of Abraham. For the sake of David, born of my line, and
for the sake of Him who was the Root of Jesse and shall be the Branch,
have pity upon the stranger.' And so the two bright visitants
vanished--and I awoke."
"Would that your dream had been sent to Abishai!" exclaimed Zarah;
"then might he not through life have borne the brand-mark of Cain!"
"Hark!" cried Hadassah, suddenly; "was that a groan that I heard?"
Zarah had heard the sound also, and was on her feet and at the door
before Hadassah had ended the sentence.
"Oh, mother--it is he--the stranger--he is dying!" exclaimed Zarah,
trembling as she bent over the form of Lycidas, which lay stretched on
the ground, close to the threshold.
The injuries which the young Greek had received from the dagger and the
fall, though severe and dangerous, had not proved fatal. The fresh
morning air had restored him to consciousness; unable to rise, Lycidas
had yet managed to drag himself feebly along for some distance, till,
as he reached the nearest dwelling, the strength of the Athenian had
utterly failed him, and he had swooned at the door of Hadassah.
"Bear him in--he bleeds!" said Hadassah; and after calling the
strong-armed Anna to aid them, the Hebrew ladies themselves carried the
senseless form of the stranger into the house, and beyond the
curtain-partition into that back portion of the dwelling described in
the beginning of this chapter. For some time undivided attention was
given to efforts to restore consciousness to the wounded man.
Hadassah, like many of her countrywomen, had knowledge of the healing
art. Zarah brought of the balm of Gilead and reviving wine; Anna
dragged into the inner room mats and skins, that the sufferer might
have something softer to rest upon than the hard floor. Zarah and the
servant then retired, by the order of Hadassah, leaving her to examine
and bind up the wounds of Lycidas, which she did with tenderness and
skill When all had been done which could be done, Hadassah drew aside
the curtain-screen, and rejoined Zarah and Anna in the front apartment,
where the latter was engaged in removing the crimson stains left by the
wounded Greek on the floor and threshold.
"Go on the road, Anna," said the widow; "carefully efface any marks by
which a wounded man could be tracked to my dwelling. No one must know
that the stranger is here."
"If Abishai heard of it, even your roof would not protect the youth,"
said Zarah, turning pale at the thought of a repetition, in the sacred
precincts of home, of the horrible scene of the previous night. "Oh,
mother, think you that the stranger will live?"
"He may; youth can swim through stormy waters," replied Hadassah;
"but--may I be forgiven the inhospitable thought!--I would that the
Greek had come to any other house rather than to mine."
"So few visitors ever seek this spot--so few strangers ever pass it--we
lead lives so retired--we can, better than most, conceal a guest,"
observed Zarah.
The brow of Hadassah was clouded still. In that small dwelling, with a
fair girl under her care, the widow lady was unwilling to harbour for
weeks, or more probably months, a man, and that man a Gentile.
Anxiously she revolved the matter in her mind, but no other course
seemed to open before her. She could not be guilty of the cruelty of
turning the helpless sufferer out to die.
"On Abishai's account," said Hadassah, "I dare not seek out the friends
of the Greek, if friends he have in Jerusalem, and ask them to bear him
thence. To do that, after Abishai's murderous attempt on his life,
would be to deliver over Miriam's husband to the executioner's sword.
This young man is bound alike by honour and gratitude to preserve
silence as to what passed by the grave; but there is nothing to prevent
him from seeking, and much to induce him to seek, retribution on a
would-be assassin, who violated the pledge of safety given to the
Greek. Would, I repeat, that this stranger had come to any house
rather than mine!"
"Mother, remember your dream!" exclaimed Zarah, who, in the secret
depths of her heart, did not share Hadassah's regret. Compassion for
the suffering--admiration for the beautiful and brave,--combined to
awaken in the maiden strong interest in the fate of the stranger.
Zarah was well pleased that her grandmother's hospitality should be to
him some reparation for a deep wrong sustained from one of her family.
"Yes," said Hadassah, thoughtfully; "that dream must have been sent to
prepare me for this. The Lord hath given me a work to perform, and He
will not let His servant suffer for striving to do His bidding. The
wounded stranger, Gentile though he be, needs hospitality, and I dare
not refuse it. If the Lord hath guided him to the home of Hadassah,
the Lord will send a blessing with him." And trying to stifle her
misgivings, the widow lady returned to her guest.