Abraham and of Sarah, in the cave of Machpelah. She had anticipated a
short absence, a transient separation from her son. She purposed to send
for him to return to his father, that he might yet be heir of the
estate; but when Jacob did return in wealth and honour--yet bearing that
bitter burden of care and sorrow, from which no honour, no wealth are
exempt,--she who would have assuredly exulted in the one, and
sympathized with the other, was not in the tent of Isaac. She came not
forth to welcome her son, to embrace her relatives and daughters or
caress their children. Her place in the tent and at the board was
vacant--her voice was hushed--her heart cold. The places that had known
her, knew her no more. And thus it often is. Before man attains wealth
or honour, those who had most rejoiced to witness it have passed away;
while still, fair as is the outward lot, there are internal sorrows,
imbittering every pleasant draught, and casting a shadow over all the
brightness of human existence. Thus it is that the most prosperous are
often followed by a cloud, reflecting glory and radiance upon such as
are without, but covering with gloom and darkness those who fall within
its shadow.

And soon followed the bitterest trial of Leah's life,--the shame,
sorrow, and widowhood of her only daughter; avenged by those who
neglected to guard her--while the husband, though indifferent to the
sorrow and love of the wife, must have felt the anguish of the father.

And the rivalry and strife of the sisters was over. "Give me children or
else I die," was the cry of the wife whose wishes had been laws--and the
prayer prompted by hate and envy was answered. Yet Rachel died. And in
that hour of mortal agony, of bitter suffering, Leah probably stood by
her sister. With affections estranged, love turned into bitterness, with
hearts alienated, but fates inseparably united, they had passed their