nity.

"I am Rachel, of Israel, daughter of Maai, and I have fled from shame.
In all Egypt, this is the one and only refuge for such as I. If my
hiding-place were published, no help could save me from the despoiler.
My one protector is she who lies within. She is my foster-mother, old
and ill from abuse at the hands of brutal servants. Thou hast my
story."

As Rachel ceased, Deborah called from within.

"There is more," she said. "Come hither. I am moved to tell thee."

Masanath obeyed with hesitation and, pausing in the doorway of the
inner chamber, heard the story of the Israelites. Great was her
perplexity and her sorrow when she heard the name of Kenkenes spoken
calmly and without grief. They did not know he was dead! She held her
peace till the story was done, How much more would her heart have been
tortured could the old woman have given her the name of the offending
noble! Instead, all unsuspecting, she heard the story of Har-hat's
wrong-doing with now and then an exclamation of indignation, condemning
him heartily in her soul.

"The time for the Egyptian's return is long past, but he will come
soon," Deborah concluded.

Masanath slowly turned her head and looked at Rachel. This, then, was
the love of that dear, dead artist, for whom Memphis mourned and had
ceased to wait. How doubly grievous his loss, for Rachel was undone
thereby! How heart-breaking to see her wait for him who would come no
more! Masanath choked back her tears and said, when she was composed
again:

"Ye need not molder in this cave, I can hide you in Memphis."

"Nay, we will await him here."

"But the Nile will be upon your refuge in three weeks. Ye would starve
if ye drowned not," the Egyptian protested earnestly.

"It may be we shall not wait so long," Rachel put in.

Masanath looked at her while she thought busily. "If I tell it, I
break a heart. But if they bide here, they die. None other will come
to them by chance or on purpose."

"I would not risk it," she answered. Returning to the pallet of
matting she finished her breakfast in silence. After a little sigh she
glanced at the wine in one of the small amphoras which Rachel had
brought to her as a drinking-cup. "Mayhap the plague is past," she
said, hinting, "and I am athirst."

Rachel took up another jar and went forth. The hairy creature in the
corner, tethered to the amphora rack, slipped his collar and followed
her.

As soon as the Israelite was