owed Miriam a debt of gratitude for the care she bestowed upon their
granddaughter Milcah, the daughter of Aaron and Elisheba, whom a great
misfortune had transformed from a merry-hearted child into a melancholy
woman, whose heart seemed dead to every joy.

A few days after her marriage to a beloved husband the latter, carried
away by passion, had raised his hand against an Egyptian tax-gatherer,
who, while Pharaoh was passing through Succoth toward the east, had
attempted to drive off a herd of his finest cattle for "the kitchen of
the lord of both worlds." For this act of self-defence the hapless man
had been conveyed to the mines as a prisoner of state, and every one knew
that the convicts there perished, soul and body, from torturing labor far
beyond their strength. Through the influence of old Nun, Hosea's father,
the wife and relatives of the condemned man had been saved from sharing
his punishment, as the law prescribed. But Milcah languished under the
blow, and the only person who could rouse the pale, silent woman from
brooding over her grief was Miriam. The desolate heart clung to the
prophetess, and she accompanied her when she practised in the huts of the
poor the medical skill she had learned and took them medicines and alms.

The last messengers Amninadab and his wife received on the roof described
the hardships of the journey and the misery they had witnessed in dark
hues; but if one, more tender-hearted than the rest, broke into
lamentations over the sufferings endured by the women and children during
the prevalence of the desert wind, and recalling the worst horrors
impressed upon his memory, uttered mournful predictions for the future,
the old man spoke cheering words, telling him of the omnipotence of God,
and how custom would inure one to hardship. His wrinkled features
expressed firm confidence, while one could read in Miriam's beautiful,
yet stern countenance, little of the courageous hope, which youth is wont