It was merely a marriage of interest and convenience, unhallowed by love.  The heart of Abraham never departed from the wife of his youth, nor could Sarah ever have intended to relinquish her hold upon his affection.  It is the last claim a woman foregoes.  And on the other hand, Hagar could have felt no love for her master, so much her superior in age and station.  Unholy pride and rank ambition were all the feelings which such an alliance could awaken in the heart of Hagar.  Yet Hagar was the least blameworthy, and, perhaps, not eventually the greatest sufferer.  By the customs of society, she had no voice in the disposal of herself.  Her heart was never consulted.  She was only allowed to receive the husband allotted to her—­to acquiesce in the decision of others.

The natural results of such a union followed.  The exaltation of Hagar excited her pride and led to arrogance; and when she knew that she should become a mother, her childless mistress was despised.

It is hard to bear contempt from those upon whom we have lavished kindness; to feel that we have exalted those who despise us:  and all the indignation of Sarah was roused by the assumption and ingratitude of Hagar; and, with the quick instinct of the woman, she retorted upon her husband, “My wrong be upon thee.”

A stranger indifference could not have been manifested than that showed by Abraham towards the youthful wife who should have now received his protection and kindness.  “Behold thy handmaid is in thy hands.”  He recognised no tie—­he felt no obligation.  What was Hagar, that she should occasion strife between him and the wife of his youth, the partner of his life, the daughter of his own people!

Hagar was from this hour abandoned by Abraham to her mistress.  When Sarah resumed the authority belonging to her station, she assumed with it a power never before exercised.  Forgetting all the love of past years, all the claims of the present hour upon her kindness and forbearance, she treated the unhappy Hagar with such intolerable harshness, that the wretched woman fled from the face of her mistress and from the tents of her master, and sought refuge in the wilderness.

We can conceive what bitter, despairing thoughts, what a keen sense of injustice and injury may have pressed upon her, as she sat alone by the fountain in the desert.  Probably a little spot of green herbage denoted the presence of water, while, all around, lay the sandy, rocky desert.  The stars, in the brightness of an oriental night, were looking down on her as she sat alone, her face buried in her hands, unheeded, there to die.  Then came the visions of her youth, the remembrances of her childhood, the sound of her mother’s voice, the dream of her smile—­then the tent of Sarah—­then the alliance with her master, the excitement of her pride, the flush of hope, the exultation of a fancied triumph over the childless, but still honoured wife; succeeded by the cold withdrawal of all the kindness of the patriarch, and the entire abandonment of her whom he had taken to his bosom, to the implacable resentment of her former mistress!