red that his daughter had spent three years
at school in Pi-Bailos; I added another talent. Then Gideon, still
disconsolate, remembered that he would lose his very good position of
manager for the lord Sesofris. I told him that he need not lose that
place, and added ten milch cows from thy stables. His forehead cleared
somewhat; then he confessed to me, as a profound secret, that a certain
very great lord, Chaires, who bears the fan of the nomarch of Memphis,
was turning attention toward Sarah. I promised then to add a young
bull, a medium chain of gold, and a large bracelet. In this way thy
Sarah will cost thee land, two talents yearly in money, ten cows, a
young bull, a chain and a gold bracelet, immediately. These Thou wilt
give to her father, the honest Gideon; to her Thou wilt give whatever
pleases thee."

"What did Sarah say to this?"

"While we were bargaining she walked among the trees. When we had
finished the matter and settled it by drinking good Hebrew wine, she
told her father dost Thou know what? that if he had not given her to
thee, she would have gone up the cliff and thrown herself down head
foremost. Now Thou mayst sleep quietly, I think," ended Tutmosis.

"I doubt it," answered Ramses, leaning on the balustrade and looking
into the emptiest side of the park. "Dost Thou know that on the way
back we found a man hanging from a tree?"

"Oh! that is worse than the scarabs!"

"He hanged himself from despair because the warriors filled the canal
which he had been digging for ten years in the desert."

"Well, that man is sleeping now quietly. So it is time for us."

"That man was wronged," said the prince. "I must find his children,
ransom them, and rent a bit of laud to them."

"But Thou must do this with great secrecy," remarked Tutmosis, "or all
slaves will begin to hang themselves, and no Phoenician will lend us,
their lords, a copper uten."

"Jest not. Hadst Thou seen that man's face, sleep would be absent to-
night from thy eyes as it is from mine."

Meanwhile from below, among the bushes, was heard a voice, not over
powerful, but clear,

"May the One, the All-Powerful, bless thee, Ramses, He who has no name
in human speech, or statue in a temple."

Both young men bent forward in astonishment.

"Who art thou?" called out the prince.

"I am the injured people of Egypt," replied the voice, slowly and with
calmness.

Then all was silent. No motion, no rustle of branches betrayed human
p