“Thou must flee from sure safety to only possible security!” Masanath demanded through her tears.  “If I must wed this terrible prince, I shall put my misery to some use.  I shall ask thy liberty at his hands and thou shalt live with me for ever, my one comfort, my one support.”

“But Israel departeth shortly—­”

“Thou shalt not go,” Masanath declared hysterically.  “I will not suffer thee!  The doors shall be barred against thy departure!”

Rachel turned her head away and pushed back her hair.  Her plight was desperate.  Meanwhile Masanath went on.

“It is not like thee, Rachel, to desert me!  I had not dreamed thee so selfish—­so cruel!”

“Sister!” Rachel cried, “thou torturest me!” On a sudden Masanath raised her head and gazed at the Israelite.

“What possessed thee to go?” she demanded.  “Is it Rameses who hath beset thee?”

Rachel shook her head and avoided Masanath’s eye.

“Tell me,” the Egyptian insisted.  “There is mystery in this.  What had my father’s man to do with thy hasty resolution to depart?”

There was no answer.  Masanath put the Israelite back from her a little and repeated her question.

“I can not tell thee,” Rachel responded slowly.

Silence fell, and Masanath spoke at last, in a decided voice.

“Thou art within my house, and so under my command.  Thou shalt not leave me!  I have said!” She turned to go back to her cushions.  Rachel followed her.

“I pray thee, Masanath—­”

“Hold thy peace.  Let us have no more of this.”

Rachel grew paler, and she clasped her hands as though praying for fortitude.  At last she broke out: 

“Masanath!  Masanath!  That man—­that Unas—­attended the noble who halted me on the road to the Nile, that morning; he was the one sent back to Memphis for the document of gift; he pursued me into the hills.  He is the servant of the man who follows me!”

The Egyptian recoiled as though she had been struck.

“Nay, nay,” she cried, throwing up her hands as though to ward off the conviction.  “Not my father!  Not he!  Thou art wrong, Rachel!”

“Would to the Lord God that I were, my sister!  But I am not mistaken in that face.  He was the one that disputed with Kenkenes—­was the one Kenkenes choked.  Never was there another man with such a voice, such a face, such a figure!  It is he!”

Masanath wrung her hands.

“Tell it over again.  Describe the noble to me.”

“He was third in the procession and drove black horses—­”

“Holy Mother Isis! his horses were black.  The first two would have been the princes of the realm, the next the fan-bearer.  Nay, I dare not hope that it is not true.  Since he would barter his own daughter for a high place, he would not hesitate to take by force the daughter of another.  O Mother of Sorrows, hide me! my father! my father!” she wailed.