CHAPTER VII.

In an upper room in the palace lay the little Prince. Through the open casement the moon looked in. Kneeling beside him was Miriam, her face buried in her hands, her body shaken by sobs. The child was speaking. "Dear Miriam," he said, "do not bid me linger in this parched land. I fain would go to the better country; one I love waits for me there. Didn't thou not tell me, that when Israel's great prophet stood to warn Egypt, that he did bless my father, the King, and promise to him a place in the heaven of heavens? Dear Miriam, the King has gone out of Egypt. Hark! how the heralds cry it through the streets! 'The King is dead,' they say. 'Long live the King.' I cannot linger here, I must go to him. He will lose his way; he could not find the golden gates; he does not know the angels; I led him here, and I must lead him there. Nay, sweet nurse, do not weep! I fain would go! Hark! he calls me. My father have but patience for a little while! I come." And then the child fell, panting, back among his pillows.

Rising from her knees Miriam stood for one moment looking down upon him, then, all unnoticed, in the wild confusion of grief that was sweeping like a flood through every home in the city, she made her way out of the palace, and the gates, to the plain beyond, where in a rude hut dwelt the prophet Moses and his brother, Aaron, waiting until the time should come for them to guide Israel out of Egypt. With no asking for admittance, Miriam entered the hut, and seeing Aaron within, she hastened to throw herself at his feet. "Oh, my lord," she cried, "I come to beg of thee, in the name of Jehovah, take all Egypt, but spare the life of Hatsu's son, the little Prince! No dearer could he be to me, my lord, had I carried him for nine long moons under my heart, no dearer had I known the pangs that bring the joyous gift to motherhood. My lord, take me, an unworthy daughter of Israel, aye, blot out my soul for all eternity, but spare the child!"

Upon her bowed head the prophet laid a gentle hand.

"Miriam, daughter of Abram," he said, "no more faithful child hath God of Israel than thou. Thy human form has been used, as a shield, by those to whom thou hast given thy pure love; but they have had no power to touch thy white soul. It is not the will of the 'All-Wise' that thine eyes should see, on this earth, that which has been hidden from thee. But be comforted, for thy God is a God of Mercy, and so let the child go in peace. The little one that thou hast reared, to say thy prayers, and call upon the Blessed One of Israel, shall see no evil days, aye, ere thy returning feet shall cross the threshold of the city gates the child shall die, and thou shalt quickly follow him."

With a moan of hopeless agony, Miriam arose. She said no word of parting. She turned and made her way back across the barren moonlit plain. A cloud now covered the moon, and a strange low-voiced wind arose that was like unto a warning cry; but Miriam heeded naught; she hurried on repeating through her white lips: "God is greater than Moses! God is greater than Aaron! God notes the fall of the bird from its nest, and He will hear my prayer! He will hear! Oh, my Father in Heaven, spare the child, spare the child!"

There comes to some, in every age of time, the actual power of reaching the source of light. It is to the mother that this awful privilege is oftenest granted. When in her supreme agony of love she spans all space and reaches the eternal to beg the life of her child.

Suddenly Miriam stood still, her cry ceased and in a quiet voice she spake to the great silence:

"What is it that Thou sayest to my soul? Aye, I know the words, 'Be strong and of good courage; fear not, for it is the Lord that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee or forsake thee.' Yea, they are sweet and comforting words! What is Thy name, Thou that art clothed in light?" Then she stretched forth her hands, a smile came to her lips. "Thou art an angel of the Lord," she cried. "Aye, spirit, I will lean upon thy breast and thou shalt lead me through the gates."

And the prophet Aaron, watching Miriam from his doorway (for the moon had come out of hiding and again the parched plain was as bright as at midday) lifted up his voice and said: "Keep Thy strong arm about her, oh Merciful One; rest her weary head upon thy loving, tender breast, for Thou, too, in Thy time of earthly sojourn, knew the yearning of the Mother heart. Oh, thou shining one, thou, too, wert once like her, a sorrowing woman, and thy God, and Miriam's God, hath sent thee to lead her through the gate."