demands that thou set the Hebrew free, yield his goods
and his children to him, and be rid of him and his plagues for ever."

Hotep spoke as if he were reciting a law from the books of the great
God Toth. His tone did not invite further contention. He had read the
king his duty, and it behooved the king to obey. A silence ensued, and
by the signs growing on Meneptah's face, Hotep predicted acquiescence.
It can not be said, however, that he noted them hopefully. Much time
would elapse in which much contrary persuasion was possible before
Israel could depart from Egypt.

Rameses came out of the dusk at the end of the corridor. The king
raised himself eagerly and summoned his son.

"Hither, my Rameses!"

With suspense in his soul, Hotep saw the prince approach. Rameses had
never expressed himself upon the Hebrew question, and the scribe knew
full well that neither himself nor Har-hat, nor all the ministers, nor
heaven and earth could militate against the counsel of that grim young
tyrant. Meneptah spoke with much appeal in his voice.

"Rameses, I need thee. Awake out of thy dream and help me. What shall
I do with the Hebrews?"

"I have trusted to my father's sufficient wisdom to help him in his
strait, without advice of mine," was the indifferent reply.

"Aye; but I crave thy counsel, now, my son."

"Then, neither god nor devil could make me loose my grasp did I wish to
hold the Hebrews!"

Hotep sighed, inaudibly, and was moved to depart, had not lack of the
king's permission made him stay.

"But consider the losses to my realm," Meneptah made perfunctory
protest. The prince's full lip curled.

"This is but a new method of warfare," he answered. "Instead of going
forth with thy foot-soldiers and thy chariots, thy javelins and thy
shields, thou sufferest siege within thy borders. Wilt thou fling up
thy hands and open thy gates to thine enemy, while yet there is plenty
within the realm and men to post its walls? Let it not be written down
against thee, O my father, that thou didst so. Losses to Egypt!" the
phrase was bitter with scorn. "Dost thou remember how many dead the
Incomparable Pharaoh left in Asia? How many perished of thirst in the
deserts and of cold in the mountains, and of pestilence in the marshes?
Ran not the rivers of the Orient with Egyptian blood, and where shall
the souls of those empty bodies dwell which rotted under the sun on the
great plains of the East? The Incomparable