It was just as if the girl had been waiting for the right moment to hit the kid sharply; for the kick was a hard one-almost a cruel one. The blue cloth hid the face of the maiden, but her eyes must surely have sparkled brightly when she so roughly stopped the game. For a minute she remained motionless; but the cloth, which had fallen low over her face, waved gently to and fro, moved by her fluttering breath. She was listening with eager attention, with passionate expectation; her convulsively clenched toes betrayed her.
Then a noise became audible; it came from the direction of the rough stair of unhewn blocks, which led from the steep wall of the ravine down to the spring. A shudder of terror passed through the tender, and not yet fully developed limbs of the shepherdess; still she did not move; the grey birds which were now sitting on a thorn-bush near her flew up, but they had merely heard a noise, and could not distinguish who it was that it announced.
The shepherdess’s ear was sharper than theirs. She heard that a man was approaching, and well knew that one only trod with such a step. She put out her hand for a stone that lay near her, and flung it into the spring so that the waters immediately became troubled; then she turned on her side, and lay as if asleep with her head on her arm. The heavy steps became more and more distinctly audible.
A tall youth was descending the rocky stair; by his dress he was seen to be one of the anchorites of Sinai, for he wore nothing but a shirt-shaped garment of coarse linen, which he seemed to have outgrown, and raw leather sandals, which were tied on to his feet with fibrous palm-bast.
No slave could be more poorly clothed by his owner and yet no one would have taken him for a bondman, for he walked erect and self-possessed. He could not be more than twenty years of age; that was evident in the young soft hair on his upper lip, chin, and cheeks; but in his large blue eyes there shone no light of youth, only discontent, and his lips were firmly closed as if in defiance.
He now stood still, and pushed back from his forehead the superabundant and unkempt brown hair that flowed round his head like a lion’s mane; then he approached the well, and as he stooped to draw the water in the large dried gourd-shell which he held, he observed first that the spring was muddy, and then perceived the goats, and at last their sleeping mistress.
He impatiently set down the vessel and called the girl loudly, but she did not move till he touched her somewhat roughly with his foot. Then she sprang up as if stung by an asp, and two eyes as black as night flashed at him out of her dark young face; the delicate nostrils of her aquiline nose quivered, and her white teeth gleamed as she cried:
“Am I a dog that you wake me in this fashion?” He colored, pointed sullenly to the well and said sharply: “Your cattle have troubled the water again; I shall have to wait here till it is clear and I can draw some.”
“The day is long,” answered the shepherdess, and while she rose she pushed, as if by chance, another stone into the water.
Her triumphant, flashing glance as she looked down into the troubled spring did not escape the young man, and he exclaimed angrily:
“He is right! You are a venomous snake—a demon of hell.”
She raised herself and made a face at him, as if she wished to show him that she really was some horrible fiend; the unusual sharpness of her mobile and youthful features gave her a particular facility for doing so. And she fully attained her end, for he drew back with a look of horror, stretched out his arms to repel her, and exclaimed as he saw her uncontrollable laughter,
“Back, demon, back! In the name of the Lord! I ask thee, who art thou?”
“I am Miriam—who else should I be?” she answered haughtily.
He had expected a different reply, her vivacity annoyed him, and he said angrily, “Whatever your name is you are a fiend, and I will ask Paulus to forbid you to water your beasts at our well.”
“You might run to your nurse, and complain of me to her if you had one,” she answered, pouting her lips contemptuously at him.
He colored; she went on boldly, and with eager play of gesture.
“You ought to be a man, for you are strong and big, but you let yourself be kept like a child or a miserable girl; your only business is to hunt for roots and berries, and fetch water in that wretched thing there. I have learned to do that ever since I was as big as that!” and she indicated a contemptibly little measure, with the outstretched pointed fingers of her two hands, which were not less expressively mobile than her features. “Phoh! you are stronger and taller than all the Amalekite lads down there, but you never try to measure yourself with them in shooting with a bow and arrows or in throwing a spear!”
“If I only dared as much as I wish!” he interrupted, and flaming scarlet mounted to his face, “I would be a match for ten of those lean rascals.”
“I believe you,” replied the girl, and her eager glance measured the youth’s broad breast and muscular arms with an expression of pride. “I believe you, but why do you not dare? Are you the slave of that man up there?”
“He is my father and besides—”
“What besides?” she cried, waving her hand as if to wave away a bat. “If no bird ever flew away from the nest there would be a pretty swarm in it. Look at my kids there—as long as they need their mother they run about after her, but as soon as they can find their food alone they seek it wherever they can find it, and I can tell you the yearlings there have quite forgotten whether they sucked the yellow dam or the brown one. And what great things does your father do for you?”
“Silence!” interrupted the youth with excited indignation. “The evil one speaks through thee. Get thee from me, for I dare not hear that which I dare not utter.”
“Dare, dare, dare!” she sneered. “What do you dare then? not even to listen!”
“At any rate not to what you have to say, you goblin!” he exclaimed vehemently. “Your voice is hateful to me, and if I meet you again by the well I will drive you away with stones.”
While he spoke thus she stared speechless at him, the blood had left her lips, and she clenched her small hands. He was about to pass her to fetch some water, but she stepped into his path, and held him spell-bound with the fixed gaze of her eyes. A cold chill ran through him when she asked him with trembling lips and a smothered voice, “What harm have I done you?”
“Leave me!” said he, and he raised his hand to push her away from the water.
“You shall not touch me,” she cried beside herself. “What harm have I done you?”
“You know nothing of God,” he answered, “and he who is not of God is of the Devil.”
“You do not say that of yourself,” answered she, and her voice recovered its tone of light mockery. “What they let you believe pulls the wires of your tongue just as a hand pulls the strings of a puppet. Who told you that I was of the Devil?”
“Why should I conceal it from you?” he answered proudly. “Our pious Paulus, warned me against you and I will thank him for it. ‘The evil one,’ he says, ‘looks out of your eyes,’ and he is right, a thousand times right. When you look at me I feel as if I could tread every thing that is holy under foot; only last night again I dreamed I was whirling in a dance with you—”
At these words all gravity and spite vanished from Miriam’s eyes; she clapped her hands and cried, “If it had only been the fact and not a dream! Only do not be frightened again, you fool! Do you know then what it is when the pipes sound, and the lutes tinkle, and our feet fly round in circles as if they had wings?”
“The wings of Satan,” Hermas interrupted sternly. “You are a demon, a hardened heathen.”
“So says our pious Paulus,” laughed the girl.
“So say I too,” cried the young man. “Who ever saw you in the assemblies of the just? Do you pray? Do you ever praise the Lord and our Saviour?”
“And