Like barbed arrows, they stick fast
in the sore heart of this injured one. Her head sinks, but she utters no
reply. She only draws nearer to her husband, and walks more closely in
his footsteps.
* * * * *
The night has passed, and a cloudless sun looks down on the assembled
thousands of Israel. Elkanah has presented his offering at the
Tabernacle, and has now gathered his family to the feast in the tent. As
is his wont, he gives to each a portion, and hilarity presides at the
board. The animated scene around them--the white tents stretching as far
as the eye can reach--the sound of innumerable voices--the meeting with
friends--all conspire to make every heart overflow, and the well-spread
table invites to new expressions of satisfaction and delight. But here,
also, as on the journey, one heart is sad. At Elkanah's right hand sits
Hannah, her plate filled by the hand of love with "a worthy portion;"
but it stands untasted before her. Her husband is troubled. He has
watched her struggles for self-control, and seen her vain endeavors to
eat and be happy like those around her; and, divining in part the cause
of her sorrow, he tenderly strives to comfort her. "Hannah, why weepest
thou? and why eatest thou not? and why is thy heart grieved? Am I not
better to thee than ten sons?" That voice of sympathy and compassion is
too much.
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