gate of the camp, but they were enough; for, on account of the storm, no
one had appeared for a long time to demand entrance or egress.  At last,
three hours after sunset, a slender figure, scarcely beyond boyhood,
approached the guards with a firm step and, showing a messenger's pass,
asked the way to Prince Siptah's tent.

He seemed to have had a toilsome journey; for his thick black locks were
tangled and his feet were covered with dust and dried clay.  Yet he
excited no suspicion; for his bearing was that of a self-reliant freeman,
his messenger's pass was perfectly correct, and the letter he produced
was really directed to Prince Siptah; a scribe of the corn storehouses,
who was sitting at the nearest fire with other officials and subordinate
officers, examined it.

As the youth's appearance pleased most of those present, and he came from
Tanis and perhaps brought news, a seat at the fire and a share in the
meal were offered; but he was in haste.

Declining the invitation with thanks, he answered the questions curtly
and hurriedly and begged the resting soldiers for a guide.  One was
placed at his disposal without delay.  But he was soon to learn that it
would not be an easy matter to reach a member of the royal family; for
the tents of Pharaoh, his relatives, and dignitaries stood in a special
spot in the heart of the camp, hedged in by the shields of the heavily-
armed troops.

When he entered he was challenged again and again, and his messenger's
pass and the prince's letter were frequently inspected.  The guide, too,
was sent back, and his place was filled by an aristocratic lord, called I
the 'eye and ear of the king,' who busied himself with the seal of the
letter.  But the messenger resolutely demanded it, and as soon as it was
again in his hand, and two tents standing side by side rocking in the
tempest had been pointed out to him, one as Prince Siptah's, the other as
the shelter of Masana, the daughter of Hornecht, for whom he asked, he
turned to the chamberlain who came out of the former one, showed him the
letter, and asked to be taken to the prince; but the former offered to
deliver the letter to his master--whose steward he was--and Ephraim--for
he was the messenger--agreed, if he would obtain him immediate admission
to the young widow.

The steward seemed to lay much stress upon getting possession of the
letter and, after scanning Ephraim from top to toe, he asked if Kasana
knew him, and when the other assented, adding that he brought her a
verbal message, the Egyptian said smiling:

"Well then; but we must protect our carpets from such feet, and you seem
weary and in need of refreshment.  Follow me."

With these words he took him to a small tent, before which an old slave
and one scarcely beyond childhood were sitting by the fire, finishing
their late meal with a bunch of garlic.

They started up as they saw their master; but he ordered the old man to
wash the messenger's feet, and bade the younger ask the prince's cook in
his name for meat, bread, and wine.  Then he led Ephraim to his tent,
which was lighted by a lantern, and asked how he, who from his appearance
was neither a slave nor a person of mean degree, had come into such a
pitiable plight.  The messenger replied that on his way he had bandaged
the wounds of a severely injured man with the upper part of his apron,
and the chamberlain instantly went to his baggage and gave him a piece of
finely plaited linen.

Ephraim's reply, which was really very near the truth, had cost him so
little thought and sounded so sincere, that it won credence, and the
steward's kindness seemed to him so worthy of gratitude that he made no
objection when the courtier, without injuring the seal, pressed the roll
of papyrus with a skilful hand, separating the layers and peering into
the openings to decipher the contents.  While thus engaged, the corpulent
courtier's round eyes sparkled brightly and it seemed to the youth as if
the countenance of the man, whose comfortable plumpness and smooth
rotundity at first appeared like a mirror of the utmost kindness of
heart, now had the semblance of a cat's.

As soon as the steward had completed his task, he begged the youth to
refresh himself in all comfort, and did not return until Ephraim had
bathed, wrapped a fresh linen upper-garment around his hips, perfumed and
anointed his hair, and, glancing into the mirror, was in the act of
slipping a broad gold circlet upon his arm.

He had hesitated some time ere doing this; for he was aware that he would
encounter great perils; but this circlet was his one costly possession
and, during his captivity, it had been very difficult for him to hide it
under his apron.  It might be of much service to him but, if he put it
on, it would attract attention and increase the danger of being
recognized.

Yet the reflection he beheld in the mirror, vanity, and the desire
to appear well in Kasana's eyes, conquered caution and prudent
consideration, and the broad costly ornament soon glittered on his arm.

The steward stood in astonishment before the handsome, aristocratic
youth, so haughty in his bearing, who had taken the place of the
unassuming messenger.  The question whether he was a relative of Kasana
sprang to his lips, and receiving an answer in the negative, he asked to
what family he belonged.

Ephraim bent his eyes on the ground for some time in embarrassment, and
then requested the Egyptian to spare him an answer until he had talked
with Hornecht's daughter.

The other, shaking his head, looked at him again, but pressed him no
farther; for what he had read in the letter was a secret which might
bring death to whoever was privy to it, and the aristocratic young
messenger was doubtless the son of a dignitary who belonged to the circle
of the fellow-conspirators of Prince Siptah, his master.

A chill ran through the courtier's strong, corpulent body, and he gazed
with mingled sympathy and dread at the blooming human flower associated
thus early in plans fraught with danger.

His master had hitherto only hinted at the secret, and it would still be
possible for him to keep his own fate separate from his.  Should he do
so, an old age free from care lay before him; but, if he joined the
prince and his plan succeeded, how high he might rise!  Terribly
momentous was the choice confronting him, the father of many children,
and beads of perspiration stood on his brow as, incapable of any coherent
thought, he led Ephraim to Kasana's tent, and then hastened to his
master.

Silence reigned within the light structure, which was composed of poles
and gay heavy stuffs, tenanted by the beautiful widow.

With a throbbing heart Ephraim approached the entrance, and when he at
last summoned courage and drew aside the curtain fastened firmly to the
earth, which the wind puffed out like a sail, he beheld a dark room, from
which a similar one opened on the right and left.  The one on the left
was as dark as the central one; but a flickering light stole through
numerous chinks of the one on the right.  The tent was one of those with
a flat roof, divided into three apartments, which he had often seen, and
the woman who irresistibly attracted him was doubtless in the lighted
one.

To avoid exposing himself to fresh suspicion, he must conquer his timid
delay, and he had already stooped and loosed the loop which fastened the
curtain to the hook in the floor, when the door of the lighted room
opened and a woman's figure entered the dark central chamber.

Was it she?

Should he venture to speak to her?  Yes, it must be done.

Panting for breath and clenching his hands, he summoned up his courage as
if he were about to steal unbidden into the most sacred sanctuary of a
temple.  Then he pushed the curtain aside, and the woman whom he had just
noticed greeted him with a low cry.

But he speedily regained his composure, for a ray of light had fallen on
her face, revealing that the person who stood before him was not Kasana,
but her nurse, who had accompanied her to the prisoners and then to the
camp.  She, too, recognized him and stared at him as though he had risen
from the grave.

They were old acquaintances; for when he was first brought to the
archer's house she had prepared his bath and moistened his wound with
balsam, and during his second stay beneath the same roof, she had joined
her mistress in nursing him.  They had chatted away many an hour
together, and he knew that she was kindly disposed toward him; for when
midway between waking and sleeping, in his burning fever, her hand had
stroked him with maternal tenderness, and afterwards she had never
wearied of questioning him about his people and at last had acknowledged
that she was descended from the Syrians, who were allied to the Hebrews.
Nay, even his language was not wholly strange to her; for she had been a
woman of twenty when dragged to Egypt with other prisoners of Rameses the
Great.  Ephraim, she was fond of saying, reminded her of her own son when
he was still younger.

The youth had no ill to fear from her, so grasping her hand, he whispered
that he had escaped from his guards and come to ask counsel from her
mistress and herself.

The word "escaped" was sufficient to satisfy the old woman; for her idea
of ghosts was that they put others to flight, but did not fly themselves.
Relieved, she stroked the youth's curls and, ere his whispered
explanation was ended, turned her back upon him and hurried into the
lighted room to tell her mistress whom she had found outside.

A few minutes after Ephraim was standing before the woman who had become
the guiding star of his life.  With glowing cheeks he gazed into the
beautiful face, still flushed by weeping, and though it gave his heart a
pang when, before vouchsafing him a greeting, she enquired whether Hosea
had accompanied him, he forgot the foolish pain when he saw her gaze
warmly at him.  Yet when the nurse asked whether she did not think he
looked well and vigorous, and withal more manly in appearance, it seemed
as though he had really grown taller, and his heart beat faster and
faster.

Kasana desired to learn the minutest details of his uncle's experiences;
but after he had done her bidding and finally yielded to the wish to
speak of his own fate, she interrupted him to consult the nurse
concerning the means of saving him from unbidden looks and fresh
dangers--and the right expedient was soon found.

First, with Ephraim's help, the old woman closed the main entrance of the
tent as firmly as possible, and then pointed to the dark room into which
he must speedily and softly retire as soon as she beckoned to him.

Meanwhile Kasana had poured some wine into a goblet, and when he came
back with the nurse she made him sit down on the giraffe skin at her feet
and asked how he had succeeded in evading the guards, and what he
expected from the future.  She would tell him in advance that her father
had remained in Tanis, so he need not fear recognition and betrayal.

Her pleasure in this meeting was evident to both eyes and ears; nay,
when Ephraim commenced his story by saying that Prince Siptah's command
to remove the prisoners' chains, for which they were indebted solely to
her, had rendered his escape possible, she clapped her hands like a
child.  Then her face clouded and, with a deep sigh, she added that ere
his arrival her heart had almost broken with grief and tears; but Hosea
should learn what a woman would sacrifice for the most ardent desire of
her heart.

She repaid with grateful words Ephraim's assurance that, before his
flight, he had offered to release his uncle from his bonds and, when she
learned that Joshua had refused to accept his nephew's aid, lest it might
endanger the success of the plan he had cleverly devised for him, she
cried out to her nurse, with tearful eyes, that Hosea alone would have
been capable of such a deed.

To the remainder of the fugitive's tale she listened intently, often
interrupting him with sympathizing questions.

The torturing days and nights of the past, which had reached such a happy
termination, seemed now like a blissful dream, a bewildering fairy-tale,
and the goblet she constantly replenished was not needed to lend fire to
his narrative.

Never before had he been so eloquent as while describing how, in the
ravine, he had stepped on some loose stones and rolled head foremost down
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 sccresy 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