dicum in the length of the step, till at the
rear they were pushing hard and barely moving. No wonder they sobbed,
prayed, panted, surged, swayed and pressed. How they reviled the
snail-like leaders, not knowing that the sturdy pace lagged in the body
of the multitude. So they hasted and progressed only inch by inch.

After the first moment of battle against the human sea, Kenkenes
recognized the futility of resistance and suffered himself to be borne
along. There was no turning back now, had he been so disposed. He had
left behind him his purposes, unaccomplished.

He had received no explicit promise from Moses, and if he had given ear
to the doubts of his own reason, he might have been sorely afraid, much
troubled for Egypt and all he loved therein. But he went with the
multitude passively, even contentedly; he did not speculate how his God
would fight for him; his faith was perfect.

As for his presence with Israel, no one heeded him. Sometimes it came
his way to be helpful; an old man lost his feet and becoming
panic-stricken was soothed only when the young Egyptian put a strong
arm about him and held him till his feet touched earth again. Children
became heavy in the arms of parents and the little Hebrews had no fear
of the young man who carried them, a while, instead. But no one
stopped to take notice that this was an Egyptian, totally unlike those
among the "mixed multitude" that had come to join Israel; nor did any
wonder what a nobleman of the blood of the oppressors did among the
fleeing slaves. Indeed, if the host had any thought beyond the impulse
of self-preservation, it was only a dim realization that they were
walking over a most rocky, oozy and untender road and that the smell of
the sea was very strong about them.

In the early hours of the morning, having become so accustomed to the
roar of the wind and the sound of the moving multitude, Kenkenes ceased
to be conscious of it. Other sounds, which hours before would have
failed to reach his ears, became distinct. The crying of tired
children reached him, and he detected even snatches of talk among the
ranks some distance away from him. Thus a clamor of noise, secondary
in force, grew about him. Above it all, at last, came a sound that
would have made him halt if he could.

He tried to think it one of the many voices of the storm, but the
second time he heard it, he knew what it was.

Far to the rear, a trumpet-call, beautiful and spir