he is veiled. Since the murder of her child by wizardry, she sees no
man."

"Still I think she will see her uncle, O Prince."

"What then do you wish to say to her?"

"O Prince, through the clemency of Pharaoh we poor slaves are about to
leave the land of Egypt never to return. Therefore, if my niece remains
behind, it is natural that I should wish to bid her farewell, and to
confide to her certain matters connected with our race and family, which
she might desire to pass on to her children."

Now when he heard this word "children" Seti softened.

"I do not trust you," he said. "You may be charged with more of your
Hebrew curses against Merapi, or you may say words to her that will make
her even unhappier than she is. Yet if you would wish to see her in my
presence----"

"My lord Prince, I will not trouble you so far. Farewell. Be pleased to
convey----"

"Or if that does not suit you," interrupted Seti, "in the presence of
Ana here you can do so, unless she refuses to receive you."

Jabez reflected for a moment, and answered:

"Then in the presence of Ana let it be, since he is a man who knows when
to be silent."

Jabez made obeisance and departed, and at a sign from the Prince I
followed him. Presently we were ushered into the chamber of the lady
Merapi, where she sat looking most sad and lonely, with a veil of black
upon her head.

"Greeting, my uncle," she said, after glancing at me, whose presence
I think she understood. "Are you the bearer of more prophecies? I pray
not, since your last were overtrue," and she touched the black veil with
her finger.

"I am the bearer of tidings, and of a prayer, Niece. The tidings are
that the people of Israel are about to leave Egypt. The prayer, which is
also a command, is--that you make ready to accompany them----"

"To Laban?" she asked, looking up.

"No, my niece. Laban would not wish as a wife one who has been the
mistress of an Egyptian, but to play your part, however humble, in the
fortunes of our people."

"I am glad that Laban does not wish what he never could obtain, my
uncle. Tell me, I pray you, why should I hearken to this prayer, or this
command?"

"For a good reason, Niece--that your life hangs on it. Heretofore you
have been suffered to take your heart's desire. But if you bide in Egypt
where you have no longer a mission to fulfil, having done all that was
sought of you in keeping with the mind of your lover, the Prince Seti,
true to the cause