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(Concluded from page 371.)
By
Marian Hartog
Truly did Miriam appreciate the affection with which
the mother of her betrothed had treated her since
she had been orphan, and it was no slight
alleviation of her fears, when she knew that
Rebecca, the eldest and favourite sister of Moses,
who was on the point of marriage, was, with her
husband, to accompany her on her voyage.
Over the laughing sea of summer, as if rejoicing in
its freedom, bounded the vessel that conveyed Miriam
from the fair shores of England to the land which he
who was all on earth to her had adopted for his own.
A
few weeks more, and Miriam was a wife, surrounded by
luxuries of which she had never dreamed: her
slightest wants anticipated, her slightest wish
obeyed, almost before it was expressed; and almost
adored by him whose image was enshrined in the
innermost depths of her own warm heart. She was
happy now as mortal well might be; and if, at times,
as she wandered on the palmy shore, her tears fell
mingling with the blue Atlantic, which kissed alike
the strand. of the sunny land in which she dwelt,
and the fair shores of merry England, in whose green
bosom slept all of her race, they were tears of
resigned melancholy, rather than of that passionate,
heart-searing grief that had fallen like a blight on
the morning of her life.
<<405>>
Six short and happy months glided by like so many
summer days, without shadow or cloud to mar their
beauty: when the pest of those fair, deceitful
climates made its appearance in the island.
The yellow fever, that dread prime minister of
death, stalked in triumph through the land, smiting
the young and beautiful, the virtuous and good, with
the same remorseless ruthlessness, with which he
struck down age and infirmity, vice and infamy; and
the Hebrew merchant escaped not the fangs of the
pestilential disease.
Oh, with what wild agony the young wife prayed for
the safety of her husband! How bitterly she wept
when first she heard his delirious ravings. But they
told her she must leave him or control her emotions;
and she did control them, and strove to be patient
under this new trial. Like some ministering angel
she moved through the darkened chamber, with tread
so noiseless that it made no echo. With untiring
affection she moistened the hot lips and fanned the
fevered brow of the unconscious object of her
tender solicitude. Day and night she sat beside his
bed, watching, tending, and praying, with patient
gentleness; now ministering to his wants, smoothing
the pillow on which he rested his aching head, and
cooling the burning air he breathed with perfumed
waters, and now singing, with birdlike sweetness,
low, soothing lays, to lull him to repose.
Rebecca besought her to leave the infected chamber,
the very air of which was heavy with disease and
destructive of vitality, and allow a black nurse to
supply her place; but she would not resign her post
to the hireling or slave.
In
vain did the sister urge the necessity of a purer
air, of refreshment, and repose. In vain did she
urge the folly, the sinfulness of willfully exposing
herself to the danger of infection. The wife was
firm; she felt no fatigue; she needed no
refreshment.
Without him life would be but a worthless
possession, a lamp from which the light was gone out
for ever, and the tainted atmosphere would not harm
her, while she watched by her husband. Such were
Miriam’s arguments, and Rebecca found it was in vain
to oppose such unselfish self-sacrificing affection
with the counsels of prudence. The dictates of
reason were not equal to combat the sophistries of
love.
Her love, her devotion were boundless, and when all
others <<406>>had ceased to hope for his recovery,
she nourished it yet in her heart; fostering the
faint spark with the warmth of her deep-seated
affection.
At
length she was rewarded, slowly and painfully though
it was that Moses recovered. The hopes at first held
out were faint; but still there was hope. First came
back the fading spark of reason, then the light
returned to his eyes, and the prostrated frame
recovered a portion of its former energies. He was
restored to her; she was not widowed; and never from
human heart arose a purer hymn of gratitude than
that which ascended from the grateful Miriam’s, as
she was once more clasped in the warm embrace of her
husband, and heard him murmur in her ear “The life
you have preserved, my Miriam, shall be spent in
rendering yours happy!”
But the grim destroyer was not to be so lightly
balked of his prey; even as Rebecca had foretold,
the poisoned breath of disease was rankling in the
heart’s blood of the devoted wife; and as her
husband recovered, so her strength became
prostrated. Naturally of a delicate constitution,
and worn out by watching and fatigue, she fell an
easy prey to the disease.
Fever ran riot through the blue veins that swelled
beneath her snowy skin, and scorched cheek and brow
with his burning fingers. Her soft eyes burned with
an unearthly light, and from the pale, parched lip
fled the rosy hue of life.
“She cannot live,” was the mournful reply of the
physician, in answer to the earnest inquiries of
Rebecca. “Poor young thing, the most fatal symptoms
have appeared; earthly skill will avail her nought;
nothing short of a miracle can save her.”
It
was the close of the burning day, and in the little
Synagogue were assembled those who came to pray to
the God of mercy to pour the balm of health through
the fevered veins of the dying, whose life had been
sacrificed at the altar of conjugal devotion.
Through the vaulted roof swelled the mingled voices,
blending in the solemn prayer. Oh, there is nought
to touch the human heart and awaken its devotion,
like the prayers of the afflicted, bowing at the
shrine of the Mighty One, who is equal to save or to
destroy.
The deep, powerful voices of the men trembled as
they prayed; for all felt deeply for the sufferings
of the young wife, who, like <<407>>some fair
exotic, had withered beneath the scorching heat of
the strange land.
There was something awful in that solemn scene,
something sublime and soul-touching in the dead,
breathless stillness, that pervaded the sacred
building, as with trembling hand, and blanched
cheek, the Reader opened the holy volume, and sought
for a new name for the dying one. A thrill of horror
passed through every heart, and the strong frame of
manhood shook like a shaken reed, as in low and
broken tones, he read from the first verse of the
twentieth chapter of Numbers: “And Miriam died
there, and was buried there.” There was a startling
incidence between the passage accidentally selected,
and the fate of her for whom they came to pray, that
chilled the hearts of those who heard. Every man
looked at his neighbour, but none spoke, and with a
cold thrill, the Reader closed the volume, and,
leaving the House of Prayer, they moved slowly and
silently toward the dwelling of Samuel.
“Pass not within those gates,” said an aged negro to
the sad congregation. “The foot of the stranger
should not cross the threshold of the house of the
dead.”
It
was but too true; even while they were praying for
her renewed health, the soul had forsaken its
earthly tenement; she had left her childhood’s home
for the land of the stranger, and in the pathetic
words of Scripture, “Died there, and was buried
there!” |
