into the chasm with them. On reaching the bottom he had believed that all
was lost; for soon after extricating himself from the rubbish that had
buried him, in order to hurry to the pool, he had heard the whistle of
the guards.

Yet he had been a good runner from his childhood, had learned in his
native pastures to guide himself by the light of the stars, so without
glancing to the right or to the left, he had hastened southward as fast
as his feet would carry him. Often in the darkness he had fallen over
stones or tripped in the hollows of the desert sand, but only to rise
again quickly and dash onward, onward toward the south, where he knew he
should find her, Kasana, her for whose sake he recklessly flung to the
winds what wiser-heads had counselled, her for whom he was ready to
sacrifice liberty and life.

Whence he derived the courage to confess this, he knew not, and neither
the blow from her fan, nor the warning exclamation of the nurse: "Just
look at the boy!" sobered him. Nay, his sparkling eyes sought hers still
mote frequently as he continued his story.

One of the hounds which attacked him he had flung against a rock, and the
other he pelted with stones till it fled howling into a thicket. He had
seen no other pursuers, either that night, or during the whole of the
next day. At last he again reached a travelled road and found country
people who told him which way Pharaoh's army had marched. At noon,
overwhelmed by fatigue, he had fallen asleep under the shade of a
sycamore, and when he awoke the sun was near its setting. He was very
hungry, so he took a few turnips from a neighboring field. But their
owner suddenly sprang from a ditch near by, and he barely escaped his
pursuit.

He had wandered along during a part of the night, and then rested beside
a well on the roadside, for he knew that wild beasts shun such frequented
places.

After sunrise he continued his march, following the road taken by the
army. Everywhere he found traces of it, and when, shortly before noon,
exhausted and faint from hunger, he reached a village in the cornlands
watered by the Seti-canal, he debated whether to sell his gold armlet,
obtain more strengthening food, and receive some silver and copper in
change. But he was afraid of being taken for a thief and again
imprisoned, for his apron had been tattered by the thorns, and his
sandals had long since dropped from his feet. He had believed that even
the hardest hearts could not fail to pity his misery so, hard as it was
for him, he had knocked at a peasant's door and begged. But the man gave
him nothing save the jeering counsel that a strong young fellow like him
ought to use his arms and leave begging to the old and weak. A second
peasant had even threatened to beat him; but as he walked on with
drooping bead, a young woman whom he had noticed in front of the
barbarian's house followed him, thrust some bread and dates into his
hand, and whispered hastily that heavy taxes had been levied on the
village when Pharaoh marched through, or she would have given him
something better.

This unexpected donation, which he had eaten at the next well, had not
tasted exactly like a festal banquet, but he did not tell Kasana that it
had been embittered by the doubt whether to fulfil Joshua's commission
and return to his people or yield to the longing that drew him to her.

He moved forward irresolutely, but fate seemed to have undertaken to
point out his way; for after walking a short half hour, the latter
portion of the time through barren land, he had found by the wayside a
youth of about his own age who, moaning with pain, held his foot clasped
between both hands. Pity led him to go to him and, to his astonishment,
he recognized the runner and messenger of Kasana's father, with whom he
had often talked.

"Apu, our nimble Nubian runner?" cried the young widow, and Ephraim
assented and then added that the messenger had been despatched to convey
a letter to Prince Siptah as quickly as possible, and the swift-footed
lad, who was wont to outstrip his master's noble steeds, had shot over
the road like an arrow and would have reached his destination in two
hours more, had he not stepped on the sharp edge of a bottle that had
been shattered by a wagon-wheel--and made a deep and terrible wound.

"And you helped him?" asked Kasana.

"How could I do otherwise?" replied Ephraim. "He had already lost a great
deal of blood and was pale as death. So I carried him to the nearest
ditch, washed the gaping wound, and anointed it with his balsam."

"I put the little box in his pouch myself a year ago," said the nurse who
was easily moved, wiping her eyes. Ephraim confirmed the statement, for
Apu had gratefully told him of it. Then he went on.

"I tore my upper garment into strips and bandaged the wound as well as I
could. Meanwhile he constantly urged haste, held out the pass and letter
his master had given him and, knowing nothing of the misfortune which had
befallen me, charged me to deliver the roll to the prince in his place.
Oh, how willingly I undertook the task and, soon after the second hour
had passed, I reached the camp. The letter is in the prince's hands, and
here am I--and I can see that you are glad! But no one was ever so happy
as I to sit here at your feet, and look up to you, so grateful as I am
that you have listened to me so kindly, and if they load me with chains
again I will bear it calmly, if you will but care for me. Ah, my
misfortune has been so great! I have neither father nor mother, no one
who loves me. You, you alone are dear, and you will not repulse me, will
you?"

He had fairly shouted the last words, as if beside himself, and carried
away by the might of passion and rendered incapable by the terrible
experiences of the past few hours of controlling the emotions that
assailed him, the youth, still scarcely beyond childhood, who saw himself
torn away from and bereft of all that had usually sustained and supported
him, sobbed aloud, and like a frightened birdling seeking protection
under its mother's wings, hid his head, amid floods of tears, in Kasana's
lap.

Warm compassion seized upon the tender-hearted young widow, and her own
eyes grew dim. She laid her hands kindly upon his head, and feeling the
tremor that shook the frame of the weeping lad, she raised his head with
both hands, kissed his brow and cheeks, looked smilingly into his eyes
with tears in her own, and exclaimed:

"You poor, foolish fellow! Why should I not care for you, why should I
repel you? Your uncle is the most beloved of men to me, and you are like
his son. For your sakes I have already accepted what I should otherwise
have thrust far, far from me! But now I must go on, and must not care
what others may think or say of me, if only I can accomplish the one
thing for which I am risking person, life, all that I once prized! Wait,
you poor, impulsive fellow!"--and here she again kissed him on the
cheeks--"I shall succeed in smoothing the path for you also. That is
enough now!"

This command sounded graver, and was intended to curb the increasing
impetuosity of the ardent youth. But she suddenly started up, exclaiming
with anxious haste: "Go, go, at once!"

The footsteps of men approaching the tent, and a warning word from the
nurse had brought this stern order to the young widow's lips, and
Ephraim's quick ear made him understand her anxiety and urged him to join
the old nurse in the dark room. There he perceived that a few moments'
delay would have betrayed him; for the curtain of the tent was drawn
aside and a man passed through the central space straight to the lighted
apartment, where Kasana--the youth heard it distinctly--welcomed the new
guest only too cordially, as though his late arrival surprised her.

Meanwhile the nurse had seized her own cloak, flung it over the
fugitive's bare shoulders, and whispered:

"Be near the tent just before sunrise, but do not enter it until I call
you, if you value your life. You have neither mother nor father, and my
child Kasana ah, what a dear, loving heart she has!--she is the best of
all good women; but whether she is fit to be the guide of an
inexperienced young blusterer, whose heart is blazing like dry straw with
love for her, is another question. I considered many things, while
listening to your story, and on account of my liking for you I will tell
you this. You have an uncle who--my child is right there--is the best of
men, and I know mankind. Whatever he advised, do; for it will surely
benefit you. Obey him! If his bidding leads you far away from here and
Kasana, so much the better for you. We are walking in dangerous paths,
and had it not been done for Hosea's sake, I would have tried to hold her
back with all my might. But for him--I am an old woman; but I would go
through fire myself for that man. I am more grieved than I can tell, both
for the pure, sweet child and for yourself, whom my own son was once so
much like, so I repeat: Obey your uncle, boy! Do that, or you will go to
ruin, and that would be a pity!"

With these words, without waiting for an answer, she drew the curtain of
the tent aside, and waited until Ephraim had slipped through. Then,
wiping her eyes, she entered, as if by chance, the lighted chamber; but
Kasana and her late guest had matters to discuss that brooked no
witnesses, and her "dear child" only permitted her to light her little
lamp at the three-armed candelabra, and then sent her to rest.

She promptly obeyed and, in the dark room, where her couch stood beside
that of her mistress, she sank down, hid her face in her hands, and wept.

She felt as though the world was upside down. She no longer understood
her darling Kasana; for she was sacrificing purity and honor for the sake
of a man whom--she knew it--her soul abhorred.




CHAPTER XXI.

Ephriam cowered in the shadow of the tent, from which he had slipped, and
pressed his ear close to the wall. He had cautiously ripped a small
opening in a seam of the cloth, so he could see and hear what was passing
in the lighted room of the woman he loved. The storm kept every one
within the tents whom duty did not summon into the open air, and Ephraim
had less reason to fear discovery on account of the deep shadow that
rested on the spot where he lay. The nurse's cloak covered him and,
though shiver after shiver shook his young limbs, it was due to the
bitter anguish that pierced his soul.

The man on whose breast he saw Kasana lay her head was a prince, a person
of high rank and great power, and the capricious beauty did not always
repel the bold man, when his lips sought those for whose kiss Ephraim so
ardently longed.

She owed him nothing, it is true, yet her heart belonged to his uncle,
whom she had preferred to all others. She had declared herself ready to
endure the most terrible things for his liberation; and now his own eyes
told him that she was false and faithless, that she granted to another
what belonged to one alone. She had bestowed caresses on him, too, but
these were only the crumbs that fell from Hosea's table, a robbery--he
confessed it with a blush--he had perpetrated on his uncle, yet he felt
offended, insulted, deceived, and consumed to his inmost soul with fierce
jealousy on behalf of his uncle, whom he honored, nay, loved, though he
had opposed his wishes.

And Hosea? Why, he too, like himself, this princely suitor, and all other
men, must love her, spite of his strange conduct at the well by the
roadside--it was impossible for him to do otherwise--and now, safe from
the poor prisoner's resentment, she was basely, treacherously enjoying
another's tender caresses.

Siptah, he had heard at their last meeting, was his uncle's foe, and it
was to him that she betrayed the man she loved!

The chink in the tent was ready to show him everything that occurred
within, but he often closed his eyes that he might not behold it. Often,
it is true, the hateful scene held him in thrall by a mysterious spell
and he would fain have torn the walls of the tent asunder, struck the
detested Egyptian to the ground, and shouted into the faithless woman's
face the name of Hosea, coupled with the harshest reproaches.

The fervent passion which had taken possession of him was suddenly
transformed to hate and scorn. He had believed himself to be the happiest
of mortals, and he had suddenly become the most miserable; no one, he
believed, had ever experienced such a fall from the loftiest heights to
the lowest depths.

The nurse had been right. Naught save misery and despair could come to
him from so faithless a woman.

Once he started up to fly, but he again heard the bewitching tones of her
musical laugh, and mysterious powers detained him, forcing him to listen.

At first the seething blood had throbbed so violently in his ears that he
felt unable to follow the dialogue in the lighted tent. But, by degrees,
he grasped the purport of whole sentences, and now he understood all that
they said, not a word of their further conversation escaped him, and it
was absorbing enough, though it revealed a gulf from which he shrank
shuddering.

Kasana refused the bold suitor many favors for which he pleaded, but this
only impelled him to beseech her more fervently to give herself to him,
and the prize he offered in return was the highest gift of earth, the
place by his side as queen on the throne of Egypt, to which he aspired.
He said this distinctly, but what followed was harder to understand; for
the passionate suitor was in great haste and often interrupted his hasty
sentences to assure Kasana, to whose hands in this hour he was committing
his life and liberty, of his changeless love, or to soothe her when the
boldness of his advances awakened fear and aversion. But he soon began to
speak of the letter whose bearer Ephraim had been and, after reading it
aloud and explaining it, the youth realized with a slight shudder that he
had become an accomplice in the most criminal of all plots, and for a
moment the longing stole over him to betray the traitors and deliver them
into the hand of the mighty sovereign whose destruction they were
plotting. But he repelled the thought and merely sunned himself in the
pleasurable consciousness--the first during this cruel hour-of holding
Kasana and her royal lover in his hand as one holds a beetle by a string.
This had a favorable effect on him and restored the confidence and
courage he had lost. The baser the things he continued to hear, the more
clearly he learned to appreciate the value of the goodness and truth
which he had lost. His uncle's words, too, came back to his memory.

"Give no man, from the loftiest to the lowliest, a right to regard you
save with respect, and you can hold your head as high as the proudest
warrior who ever wore purple robe and golden armor."

On the couch in Kasana's house, while shaking with fever, he had
constantly repeated this sentence; but in the misery of captivity, and on
his flight it had again vanished from his memory. In the courtier's tent
when, after he had bathed and perfumed himself, the old slave held a
mirror before him, he had given it a passing thought; but now it mastered
his whole soul. And strange to say, the worthless traitor within wore a
purple coat and golden mail, and looked like a military hero, but he
could not hold his head erect, for the work he sought to accomplish could
only succeed in the secrecy that shuns the light, and was like the labor
of the hideous mole which undermines the ground in the darkness.

His tool was the repulsive cloven-footed trio, falsehood, fraud, and
faithlessness, and she whom he had chosen for his help-mate was the
woman--it shamed him to his inmost soul-for whom he had been in the act
of sacrificing all that was honorable, precious, and dear to him.

The worst infamies which he had been taught to shun were the rounds of
the ladder on which this evil man intended to mount.

The roll the youth had brought to the camp contained two letters. The
first was from the conspirators in Tanis, the second from Siptah's
mother.

The former desired his speedy return and told him that the Syrian Aarsu,
the commander of the foreign mercenaries, who guarded the palace, as well
as the women's house, was ready to do him homage. If the high-priest of
Amon, who was at once chief-judge, viceroy and keeper of the seal,
proclaimed him king, he was sovereign and could enter the palace which
stood open to him and ascend the throne without resistance. If Pharaoh
returned, the body-guards would take him prisoner and remove him as
Siptah, who liked no halfway measures, had secretly directed, while the
chief-priest insisted upon keeping him in mild imprisonment.

Nothing was to be feared save the premature return from Thebes of Seti,
the second son of Menephtah; for the former, after his older brother's
death, had become heir to the throne, and carrier doves had brought news
yesterday that he was now on his way. Therefore Siptah and the powerful
priest who was to proclaim him king were urged to the utmost haste.

The necessary measures had been adopted in case of possible resistance
from the army; for as soon as the Hebrews had been destroyed, the larger
portion of the troops, without any suspicion of the impending
dethronement of their commander-in-chief, would be sent to their former
stations. The body-guards were devoted to Siptah, and the others who
entered the capital, should worst come to worst, could be easily
overpowered by Aarsu and his mercenaries.

"There is nothing farther for me to do," said the prince, "stretching
himself comfortably, like a man who has successfully accomplished a
toilsome task," except to rush back to Tanis in a few hours with Bai,
have myself crowned and proclaimed king in the temple of Amon, and
finally received in the palace as Pharaoh. The rest will take care of
itself. Seti, whom they call the heir to the throne, is just such another
weakling as his father, and must submit to a fixed fact, or if necessary,
be forced to do so. The captain of the body-guards will see that
Menephtah does not again enter the palace in the city of Rameses.

The second letter which was addressed to the Pharaoh, had been written by
the mother of the prince in order to recall her son and the chief-priest
Bai to the capital as quickly as possible, without exposing the former to
the reproach of cowardice for having quitted the army so shortly before
the battle. Though she had never been better, she protested with
hypocritical complaints and entreaties, that the hours of her life were
numbered, and besought the king to send her son and the chief-priest Bai
to her without delay, that she might be permitted to bless her only child
before her death.

She was conscious of many a sin, and no one, save the high-priest,
possessed the power of winning the favor of the gods for her, a dying
woman. Without his intercession she would perish in despair.

This letter, too, the base robber of a crown read aloud, called it a
clever bit of feminine strategy, and rubbed his hands gleefully.

Treason, murder, hypocrisy, fraud, shameful abuse of the most sacred
feelings, nay all that was evil must serve Siptah to steal the throne,
and though Kasana had wrung her hands and shed tears when she heard that
he meant to remove Pharaoh from his path, she grew calmer after the
prince had represented that her own father had approved of his
arrangements for the deliverance of Egypt from the hand of the king, her
destroyer.

The letter from the prince's mother to Pharaoh, the mother who urged her
own son to the most atrocious crimes, was the last thing Ephraim heard;
for it roused in the young Hebrew, who was wont to consider nothing purer
and more sacred than the bonds which united parents and children, such
fierce indignation, that he raised his fist threateningly and, springing
up, opened his lips in muttered invective.

He did not hear that Kasana made the prince swear that, if he attained
the sovereign power, he would grant her first request. It should cost him
neither money nor lands, and only give her the right to exercise mercy
where her heart demanded it; for things were in store which must
challenge the wrath of the gods and he must leave her to soothe it.

Ephraim could not endure to see or hear more of these abominable things.

For the first time he felt how great a danger he ran of being dragged
into this marsh and becoming a lost, evil man; but never, he thought,
would he have been so corrupt, so worthless, as this prince. His uncle's
words again returned to his mind, and he now raised his head proudly and
arched his chest as if to assure himself of his own unbroken vigor,
saying meanwhile, with a long breath, that he was of too much worth to
ruin himself for the sake of a wicked woman, even though, like Kasana,
she was the fairest and most bewitching under the sun.

Away, away from the neighborhood of this net, which threatened to
entangle him in murder and every deed of infamy.

Resolved to seek his people, he turned toward the gate of the camp, but
after a few hasty steps paused, and a glance at the sky showed him that
it was the second hour past midnight. Every surrounding object was buried
in silence save that from the neighboring Dens of the royal steeds, came
the sound of the rattle of a chain, or of the stamp of a stallion's hoof.

If he risked escaping from the camp now, he could not fail to be seen and
stopped. Prudence commanded him to curb his impatience and, as he glanced
around, his eyes rested on the chamberlain's tent from which the old
slave had just emerged to look for his master, who was still waiting in
the prince's tent for his lord's return.

The old man had treated Ephraim kindly, and now asked him with
good-natured urgency to come in and rest; for the youth needed sleep.

And Ephraim accepted the well-meant invitation. He felt for the first
time how weary his feet were, and he had scarcely stretched himself upon
the mat which the old slave--it was his own--spread on the floor of the
tent for him, ere the feeling came over him that his limbs were relaxing;
and yet he had expected to find here time and rest for calm deliberation.

He began, too, to think of the future and his uncle's commission.

That he must join his people without delay was decided. If they escaped
Pharaoh's army, the others could do what they pleased, his duty was to
summon his shepherds, servants, and the youths of his own age, and with
them hurry to the mines to break Joshua's chains and bring him back to
his old father and the people who needed him. He already saw himself with
a sling in his girdle and a battle-axe in his hand, rushing on in advance
of the others, when sleep overpowered him and bound the sorely wearied
youth so firmly and sweetly that even dreams remained aloof from his
couch and when morning came the old slave was obliged to shake him to
rouse him.

The camp was already pervaded with bustling life. Tents were struck,
asses and ox-carts laden, steeds curried and newly-shod, chariots washed,
weapons and harnesses cleaned, breakfast was distributed and eaten.

At intervals the blare of trumpets was heard in one direction, loudly
shouted commands in another, and from the eastern portion of the camp
echoed the chanting of the priests, who devoutly greeted the new-born
sun-god.

A gilded chariot, followed by a similar one, drove up to the costly
purple tent beside Kasana's, which active servants were beginning to take
down.

Prince Siptah and the chief-priest Bai had received Pharaoh's permission
to set off for Tanis, to fulfil the wish of a "dying woman."

Soon after Ephraim took leave of the old slave and bade him give Kasana's
nurse the cloak and tell her that the messenger had followed her advice
and his uncle's.

Then he set off on his walk.

He escaped unchallenged from the Egyptian camp and, as he entered the
wilderness, he heard the shout with which he called his shepherds in the
pastures. The cry, resounding far over the plain, startled a sparrow-hawk
which was gazing into the distance from a rock and, as the bird soared
upward, the youth fancied that if he stretched out his arms, wings must
unfold strong enough to bear him also through the air. Never had he felt
so light and active, so strong and free, nay had the priest at this hour
asked him the question whether he would accept the office of a captain of
thousands in the Egyptian army, he would undoubtedly have answered, as he
did before the ruined house of Nun, that his sole desire was to remain a
shepherd and rule his flocks and servants.

He was an orphan, but he had a nation, and where his people were was his
home.

Like a wanderer, who, after a long journey, sees his home in the
distance, he quickened his pace.

He had reached Tanis on the night of the new moon and the round silver
shield which was paling in the morning light was the same which had then
risen before his eyes. Yet it seemed as though years lay between his
farewell of Miriam and the present hour, and the experiences of a life
had been compressed into these few days.

He had left his tribe a boy; he returned a man; yet, thanks to this one
terrible night, he had remained unchanged, he could look those whom he
loved and reverenced fearlessly in the face.

Nay, more!

He would show the man whom he most esteemed that he, too, Ephraim, could
hold his head high. He would repay Joshua for what he had done, when he
remained in chains and captivity that he, his nephew, might go forth as
free as a bird.

After hurrying onward an hour, he reached a ruined watch-tower, climbed
to its summit, and saw, at a short distance beyond the mount of
Baal-zephon, which had long towered majestically on the horizon, the
glittering northern point of the Red Sea.

The storm, it is true, had subsided, but he perceived by the surging of
its emerald surface that the sea was by no means calm, and single black
clouds in the sky, elsewhere perfectly clear, seemed to indicate an
approaching tempest.

He gazed around him asking himself what the leader of the people probably
intended, if--as the prince had told Kasana--they had encamped between
Pihahiroth--whose huts and tents rose before him on the narrow gulf the
northwestern arm of the Red Sea thrust into the land--and the mount of
Baal-zephon.

Had Siptah lied in this too?

No. This time the malicious traitor had departed from his usual custom;
for between the sea and the village, where the wind was blowing slender
columns of smoke asunder, his falcon-eye discovered many light spots
resembling a distant flock of sheep, and among and beside them a singular
movement to and fro upon the sands.

It was the camp of his people.

How short seemed the distance that separated him from them!

Yet the nearer it was, the greater became his anxiety lest the great
multitude, with the women and children, herds and tents, could not escape
the vast army which must overtake them in a few hours.

His heart shrank as he gazed around him; for neither to the east, where a
deeper estuary was surging, nor southward, where the Red Sea tossed its
angry waves, nor even toward the north, whence Pharaoh's army was
marching, was escape possible. To the west lay the wilderness of Aean,
and if the wanderers escaped in that direction, and were pressed farther,
they would again enter Egyptian soil and the exodus would be utterly
defeated.

So there was nothing left save to risk a battle, and at the thought a
chill ran through the youth's veins; for he knew how badly armed,
untrained, savage, unmanageable, and cowardly were the men of his race,
and had witnessed the march of the powerful, well-equipped Egyptian army,
with its numerous foot-soldiers and superb war-chariots.

To him now, as to his uncle a short time before, his people seemed doomed
to certain destruction, unless succored by the God of his fathers. In
former years, and just before his departure, Miriam, with sparkling eyes
and enthusiastic words, had praised the power and majesty of this
omnipotent Lord, who preferred his people above all other nations; but
the lofty words of the prophetess had filled his childish heart with a
slight fear of the unapproachable greatness and terrible wrath of this
God.

It had been easier for him to uplift his soul to the sun-god, when his
teacher, a kind and merry-hearted Egyptian priest, led him to the temple
of Pithom. In later years he had felt no necessity of appealing to any
god; for he lacked nothing, and while other boys obeyed their parents'
commands, the shepherds, who well knew that the flocks they tended
belonged to him, called him their young master, and first in jest, then
in earnest, paid him all the honor due a ruler, which prematurely
increased his self-importance and made him an obstinate fellow.

He whom stalwart, strong men obeyed, was sufficient unto himself, and
felt that others needed him and, as nothing was more difficult for him
than to ask a favor, great or small, from any one, he rebelled against
praying to a God so far off and high above him.

But now, when his heart was oppressed by the terrible destiny that
threatened his people, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that only the
Greatest and Mightiest could deliver them from this terrible, unspeakable
peril, as if no one could withstand this powerful army, save He whose
might could destroy heaven and earth.

What were they that the Most High, whom Miriam and Hosea described as so
pre-eminently great, should care for them? Yet his people numbered many
thousands, and God had not disdained to make them His, and promise great
things for them in the future. Now they were on the verge of destruction,
and he, Ephraim, who came from the camp of the enemy, was perhaps the
sole person who saw the full extent of the danger.

Suddenly he was filled with the conviction that it was incumbent upon
him, above all others, to tell the God of his fathers,--who perhaps in
caring for earth and heaven, sun and stars, had forgotten the fate of His
people--of the terrible danger impending, and beseech Him to save them.
He was still standing on the top of the ruined tower, and raised his arms
and face toward heaven.

In the north he saw the black clouds which he had noticed in the blue sky
swiftly massing and rolling hither and thither. The wind, which had
subsided after sunrise, was increasing in strength and power, and rapidly
becoming a storm. It swept across the isthmus in gusts, which followed
one another more and more swiftly, driving before them dense clouds of
yellow sand.

He must lift up his voice loudly, that the God to whom he prayed might
hear him in His lofty heaven, so, with all the strength of his young
lungs, he shouted into the storm:

"Adonai, Adonai! Thou, whom they call Jehovah, mighty God of my fathers,
hear me, Ephraim, a young inexperienced lad, of whom, in his
insignificance, Thou hast probably never thought. I ask nothing for
myself. But the people, whom Thou dost call Thine, are in sore peril.
They have left durable houses and good pastures because Thou didst
promise them a better and more beautiful land, and they trusted in Thee
and Thy promises. But now the army of Pharaoh is approaching, so great a
host that our people will never be able to resist it. Thou must believe
this, Eli, my Lord. I have seen it and been in its midst. So surely as I
stand here, I know that it is too mighty for Thy people. Pharaoh's power
will crush them as the hoofs of the cattle trample the grain on the
threshing-floor. And my people, who are also Thine, are encamped in a
spot where Pharaoh's warriors can cut them down from all directions, so
that there is no way for them to fly, not one. I saw it distinctly from
this very spot. Hear me now, Adonai. But canst Thou hear my words, oh
Lord, in such a tempest? Surely Thou canst; for they call Thee omnipotent
and, if Thou dost hear me and dost understand the meaning of my words,
Thou wilt see with Thy mighty eyes, if such is Thy will, that I speak the
truth. Then Thou wilt surely remember the vow Thou didst make to the
people through Thy servant Moses.

"Among the Egyptians, I have witnessed treachery and murder and shameful
wiles; their deeds have filled me, who am myself but a sinful,
inexperienced youth, with horror and indignation. How couldst Thou, from
whom all good is said to proceed, and whom Miriam calls truth itself, act
like those abominable men and break faith with those who trusted in Thee?
I know, Thou great and mighty One, that this is far from Thee, nay,
perhaps it is a sin even to cherish such a thought. Hear me, Adonai! Look
northward at the troops of the Egyptians, who will surely soon leave
their camp and march forward, and southward to the peril of Thy people,
for whom escape is no longer possible, and Thou wilt rescue them by Thy
omnipotence and great wisdom; for Thou hast promised them a new country,
and if they are destroyed, how can they reach it?"

With these words he finished his prayer, which, though boyish and
incoherent, gushed from the inmost depths of his heart. Then he sprang
with long leaps from the ruined tower to the barren plain at his feet,
and ran southward as fleetly as if he were escaping from captivity a
second time. He felt how the wind rushing from the north-east urged him
forward, and told himself that it would also hasten the march of
Pharaoh's soldiers. Perhaps the leaders of his people did not yet know
how vast was the military power that threatened them, and undervalued the
danger in which their position placed them. But he saw it, and could give
them every information. Haste was necessary, and he felt as though he had
gained wings in this race with the storm.

The village of Pihahiroth was soon gained, and while dashing by it
without pausing, he noticed that its huts and tents were deserted by men
and cattle. Perhaps its inhabitants had fled with their property to a
place of safety before the advancing Egyptian troops or the hosts of his
own people.

The farther he went, the more cloudy became the sky,--which here so
rarely failed to show a sunny vault of blue at noonday,--the more
fiercely howled the tempest. His thick locks fluttered wildly around his
burning head, he panted for breath, yet flew on, on, while his sandals
seemed to him to scarcely touch the ground.

The nearer he came to the sea, the louder grew the howling and whistling
of the storm, the more furious the roar of the waves dashing against the
rocks of Baal-zephon. Now--a short hour after he had left the tower--he
reached the first tents of the camp, and the familiar cry: "Unclean!" as
well as the mourning-robes of those whose scaly, disfigured faces looked
forth from the ruins of the tents which the storm had overthrown,
informed him that he had reached the lepers, whom Moses had commanded to
remain outside the camp.

Yet so great was his haste that, instead of making a circuit around their
quarter, he dashed straight through it at his utmost speed. Nor did he
pause even when a lofty palm, uprooted by the tempest, fell to the ground
so close beside him that the fan-shaped leaves in its crown brushed his
face.

At last he gained the tents and pinfolds of his people, not a few of
which had also been overthrown, and asked the first acquaintances he met
for Nun, the father of his dead mother and of Joshua.

He had gone down to the shore with Moses and other elders of the people.
Ephraim followed him there, and the damp, salt sea-air refreshed him and
cooled his brow.

Yet he could not instantly get speech with him, so he collected his
thoughts, and recovered his breath, while watching the men whom he sought
talking eagerly with some gaily-clad Phoenician sailors. A youth like
Ephraim might not venture to interrupt the grey-haired heads of the
people in the discussion, which evidently referred to the sea; for the
Hebrews constantly pointed to the end of the bay, and the Phoenicians
sometimes thither, sometimes to the mountain and the sky, sometimes to
the north, the center of the still increasing tempest.

A projecting wall sheltered the old men from the hurricane, yet they
found it difficult to stand erect, even while supported by their staves
and clinging to the stones of the masonry.

At last the conversation ended and while the youth saw the gigantic
figure of Moses go with slow, yet firm steps among the leaders of the
Hebrews down to the shore of the sea, Nun, supported by one of his
shepherds, was working his way with difficulty, but as rapidly as
possible toward the camp. He wore a mourning-robe, and while the others
looked joyous and hopeful when they parted, his handsome face, framed by
its snow-white beard and hair, had the expression of one whose mind and
body were burdened by grief.

Not until Ephraim called him did he raise his drooping leonine head, and
when he saw him he started back in surprise and terror, and clung more
firmly to the strong arm of the shepherd who supported him.

Tidings of the cruel fate of his son and grandson had reached him through
the freed slaves he had left in Tanis; and the old man had torn his
garments, strewed ashes on his head, donned mourning robes, and grieved
bitterly for his beloved, noble, only son and promising grandson.

Now Ephraim was standing before him; and after Nun had laid his hand on
his shoulders, and kissed him again and again, he asked if his son was
still alive and remembered him and his people.

As soon as the youth had joyfully assured him that such was the case, Nun
threw his arms around the boy's shoulders, that henceforth his own blood,
instead of a stranger, should protect him from the violence of the storm.

He had grave and urgent duties to fulfil, from which nothing might
withhold him. Yet as the fiery youth shouted into his ear, through the
roar of the hurricane, on their way through the camp, that he would
summon his shepherds and the companions of his own age to release Hosea,
who now called himself Joshua, old Nun's impetuous spirit awoke and,
clasping Ephraim closer to his heart, he cried out that though an old man
he was not yet too aged to swing an axe and go with Ephraim's youthful