father, and departed without another word. To my mind he hath
conducted himself most strangely. I doubt not he knows more than you
or I, Rachel."

To Masanath's dismay the Israelite flung herself face down on the rugs
and wept. "He is not dead; he is not dead," she cried.

The collapse of a composure so strong and bridled filled Masanath with
consternation. Had Rachel's spirit been of weaker fiber the Egyptian's
own forceful individuality would have longed to sustain it, but when it
broke in its strength she knew that here was a stress of emotion too
deep for her to soothe.

"Then if he is not dead," she said, searching for something to say,
"why weepest thou?"

"Alas! seest thou not, Masanath? He hath not returned to me; his
father knows his story, and if he be not dead how shall I explain his
absence save that he hath forgotten or repented?"

"Not so!" Masanath declared. "He is the soul of honor, and there is a
mystery in this that the gods may explain in time. Comfort thee,
Rachel, for there stirreth a hope in me." Then with the utmost tact
she told the story of the finding of Kenkenes' boat and the theory
accepted in Memphis.

"I can offer thee hope," she concluded, "but I can not even guess what
should keep him so long. Of this be assured, however, he did not
desert thee, Rachel."

Enigmatical as it was, the incident was comforting to Rachel.

So the Nile rose and subsided, the winter came and went, and now it was
near the middle of March, Masanath forgot Kenkenes and remembered her
own sorrow now that its consummation was surely approaching. During
the hours that darkened gradually Rachel was to her an ever-responsive
comforter. Even in the dead of night, if the weight of her care
burdened her dreams so that she stirred or murmured, she was instantly
soothed till she slept again. Usually the day did not harass her with
oppression, but if she grew suddenly afraid, Rachel was at her side to
comfort her--never urging, either to rebellion or submission, but ever
offering hope.

So the little Egyptian came to love the Israelite with the love that
demands rather than gives--the love of a child for the mother, of the
benefited for the benefactor. Gradually Rachel lost sight of her own
trouble in her devotion to Masanath. She had no time for her own
thoughts. Each passing day brought the Egyptian's martyrdom nearer,
and Rachel's uses hourly increased.

This day Masanath, who had been ill, was u