Old people enjoined the young never to forget this day and this drink, and a grandmother sprinkled her grandchildren’s brows at the edge of the spring with water to secure for them divine protection throughout their future lives.

Hope, gratitude, and warm confidence reigned wherever the gaze was turned, even fear of the warlike sons of Amalek had vanished; for what evil could befall those who trusted to the favor of such an Omnipotent Defender.

One tent alone, the stateliest of all, that of the prince of the tribe of Judah, did not share the joy of the others.

Miriam sat alone among her women, after having silently served the meal to the men who were overflowing with grateful enthusiasm; she had learned from Reuben, Milcah’s husband, that Moses had given to Joshua in the presence of all the elders, the office of commander-in-chief.  Hur, her husband, she had heard farther, had joyfully yielded the guidance of the warriors to the son of Nun.

This time the prophetess had held aloof from the people’s hymns of praise.  When Milcah and her women had urged her to accompany them to the spring, she had commanded the petitioners to go alone.  She was expecting her husband and wished to greet him alone; she must show him that she desired his forgiveness.  But he did not return home; for after the council of the elders had separated, he helped the new commander to marshal the soldiers and did so as an assistant, subordinate to Hosea, who owed to her his summons and the name of Joshua.

Her servants, who had returned, were now drawing threads from the distaff:  but this humble toil was distasteful to her, and while she let her hands rest and gazed idly into vacancy, the hours dragged slowly along, while she felt her resolution of meekly approaching her husband become weaker and weaker.  She longed to pray for strength to bow before the man who was her lord and master; but the prophetess, who was accustomed to fervent pleading, could not find inspiration.  Whenever she succeeded in collecting her thoughts and uplifting her heart, she was disturbed.  Each fresh report that reached her from the camp increased her displeasure.  When evening at last closed in, a messenger arrived and told her not to prepare the supper which, however, had long stood ready.  Hur, his son, and grandson had accepted the invitation of Nun and Joshua.

It was a hard task for her to restrain her tears.  But had she permitted them to flow uncontrolled, they would have been those of wrath and insulted womanly dignity, not of grief and longing.

During the hours of the evening watch soldiers marched past, and from troop after troop cheers for Joshua reached her.

Even when the words “strong and steadfast!” were heard, they recalled the man who had once been dear to her, and whom now—­she freely admitted it—­she hated.  The men of his own tribe only had honored her husband with a cheer.  Was this fitting gratitude for the generosity with which he had divested himself, for the sake of the younger man, of a dignity that belonged to him alone?  To see her husband thus slighted pierced her to the heart and caused her more pain than Hur’s leaving her, his newly-wedded wife, to solitude.