light."

"I know it," Hosea interrupted gloomily, "and I will thank the God of my
fathers if those were wrong from whom I heard that you are to blame,
Kasana, for having our dungeon door locked more firmly."

"Should I be here, if that were so!" cried the beautiful, grieving woman
with impassioned eagerness. True, resentment did stir within me as it
does in every woman whose lover scorns her; but the misfortune that
befell you speedily transformed resentment into compassion, and fanned
the old flames anew. So surely as I hope for a mild judgment before the
tribunal of the dead, I am innocent and have not ceased to hope for your
liberation. Not until yesterday evening, when all was too late, did I
learn that Bai's proposal had been futile. The chief priest can do much,
but he will not oppose the man who made himself my father's ally."

"You mean Prince Siptah, Pharaoh's nephew!" cried Joshua in excited
tones. "They intimated to me the scheme they were weaving in his
interest; they wished to put me in the place of the Syrian Aarsu, the
commander of the mercenaries, if I would consent to let them have their
way with my people and desert those of my own blood. But I would rather
die twenty deaths than sully myself with such treachery. Aarsu is better
suited to carry out their dark plans, but he will finally betray them
all. So far as I am concerned, the prince has good reason to hate me."

Kasana laid her hand upon his lips, pointed anxiously to Ephraim and the
guide, and said gently:

"Spare my father! The prince--what roused his enmity. . . . "

"The profligate seeks to lure you into his snare and has learned that you
favor me," the warrior broke in. She bent her head with a gesture of
assent, and added blushing:

"That is why Aarsu, whom he has won over to his cause, watches you so
strictly."

"And the Syrian will keep his eyes sufficiently wide open," cried Joshua.
"Now let us talk no more of this. I believe you and thank you warmly for
following us hapless mortals. How fondly I used to think, while serving
in the field, of the pretty child, whom I saw blooming into maidenhood."

"And you will think of her still with neither wrath nor rancor?"

"Gladly, most gladly."

The young widow, with passionate emotion, seized the prisoner's hand to
raise it to her lips, but he withdrew it; and, gazing at him with tears
in her eyes, she said mournfully:

"You deny me the favor a benefactor does not refuse even to a be