“My father’s courier,” she explained.  “Let him come up,” she continued to Nari.  The waiting woman bowed and left her.

Rachel arose and took a place on the farther side of the hypostyle, with the screens of matting between her and Masanath.  She was still in hiding.

The fat servitor came up presently.

“The gracious gods have had thee under their sheltering wings during these troublous times,” he said, bowing.  “It is worth the trip from Tanis to look upon thee.”

“Thy words are fair, Unas.  How is it with my father?” Masanath asked with stiff lips.

“The gods are good to the Pharaoh.  They permit the wise Har-hat to continue in health to render service to his sovereign.”

Masanath, dreading the news, asked after it at once.  Men have killed themselves for fear of death.

“Thou hast come to conduct me to court?”

“That is the gracious will of my master.”

Masanath half rose from her seat.  “When?” she asked almost inaudibly.

“In twenty days; no more.  I have a mission to perform and shall go hence immediately.  But I shall return in twenty days, never fear, my Lady.”

Masanath saw that he mocked her.  Her wrath was an effective counter-irritant for her trouble.  She was calm again.

“Then, if thy message is delivered, go!”

He backed out and descended the stairway.

When she was sure he was gone she flung herself, in a paroxysm of wild grief and despair, face down on her cushions.  At that moment a cold hand caught her arm.  She looked up and saw Rachel.  All the blue had gone from the Israelite’s eyes, leaving them black with dreadful conviction.  The color had receded from her cheeks and her figure was rigid.

“Who was that man?” she demanded in a voice low with concentrated emotion.

“Unas, my father’s man.  What is amiss, Rachel?”

The Israelite stood for a moment as though she permitted the intelligence to assemble all the further facts that it entailed.  Then she turned away and walked swiftly toward the well of the stair.

“Rachel!  Thou—­what—­thou hast not answered me,” Masanath called.

“There is naught to be said.  I—­it were best that I go to my people now, since thou goest to marriage,” was the unready reply.

“Thou wilt return to thy people!  Rachel!  Nay, nay I Thou art all I have.  Come back!  Come back!” Masanath cried, running after her.

Rachel hesitated, trembling with a multitude of emotions.

“It were better I should go,” she insisted, trying to escape Masanath’s clasp.  “If I go now I can reach my people and be hidden safely.”

The little Egyptian flung herself upon the Israelite, weeping.

“Art thou, too, deserting me—­thou, who art the last to befriend me?  What have I done that thou shouldst desert me?”

“Naught!  Naught!  Thou dear unfortunate!” was the passionate reply.  “But I must go!  I must!”