The master of the Arabs was a discerning man, and he presently called Shaphat aside, and pointed to the youngest prisoner, “You act strangely, fellow,” declared the merchant; “did you know this girl in Babylon? When I engaged you, I understood you were a Jew, once servant of the imprisoned minister, Daniel. To my mind, this maid is of your own race.” “You are right,” was the seemingly frank answer. “She is a Jewess, and at some time I have met her in the city; but I forget at whose house she may have been servant. As you see, she is comely. Treat her well, and she will bring twice the price of the two others. And do not bind her. Who dreams that a frail thing such as she can run away?” “You speak well; she shall not be bound; but cease making eyes at her. Her good looks are not for such as you.” Whereupon Shaphat professed himself all obedience. That night Ruth lay alone upon a dirty truss of straw in a village hut, while without great camels grunted, dogs bayed the moon, and watchmen trolled coarse ditties. First one calamity had thronged upon her, then another, from the moment Isaiah took her from her father’s house, only an hour ago it seemed. She had long since passed beyond the solace of tears. She had striven to pray. Her whispered words seemed only to awaken echoes of mockery. Either Jehovah was Himself a fiend, or He was helpless, Bel-Marduk His master. Once a terrible thought crossed her mind. She would curse Jehovah, she would cry to Marduk, to Istar, and to Ramman; the Babylonians called on them and prospered, why might not she?—what good thing had Jehovah granted, that she should love Him? But at the suggestion all the strong forces of the Jewess’s nature rose in rebellion within her. Should she, the daughter of Daniel, the betrothed of Isaiah, near and dear to two men who were perilling their lives for the sake of Jehovah, be the one to doubt? No, though the present ills waxed tenfold worse, if such a thing might be! And presently, it seemed as if out of the night a voice was speaking, and she heard it, while an awful stillness was reigning in her heart,—the words of the psalm of her people, the song of David when God delivered him from the murderous hand of Saul. “The Lord is my rock, and my fortress and my deliverer: My God, my strength, in whom I will trust, My buckler and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower. I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised, So shall I be saved from mine enemies. He bowed down the heavens also, and came down: And darkness was under his feet. He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me.”