Meanwhile the procession moved on and the nobles glanced first at the fan-bearer, and next, at the Israelite.  But Athor in the niche on the hillside was not more white and stony than its living model in the valley.  There was no retreat.  The fan-bearer stood between her and the Nile, his servant between her and the quarries.  She felt the sickening numbness that stupefies one who realizes a terrible strait, from which there is neither succor nor escape.

The procession passed and the servant, halting, bowed to his master.  He was short and fat, thick of neck and long of arm—­a most unusual Egyptian.  Har-hat tossed him the reins and, walking around his horses, approached Rachel.  The smallest Hebrew—­too small to be awed and yet old enough to realize that the beloved Rachel was in danger, dropped the hide he bore, and flinging himself before her, clasped her with his arms, and turned a defiant face at Har-hat over his shoulder.  The fan-bearer paused.

“It is the very same,” he said laughingly.  “The hard life of the quarries hath not robbed thee in the least of thy radiance.  But by the gambling god, Toth, thou didst take a risk!  Dost dream what thou didst miss through a malevolent caprice of the Hathors?  Five months ago I would have taken thee out of bondage into luxury but for an industrious taskmaster and the unfortunate interference of a royal message.  But the Seven Sisters repent, and I find thee again.”

Rachel had fixed her eyes upon the white walls of Memphis shining in the morning sun, and did not seem to hear him.

“Nay, now, slight me not!  It was the fault of the taskmaster and not mine.  I confess the charm of distant Memphis, but it is more glorious within its walls.  I am come to take thee thither.  Thank me with but a look, I pray thee.”

Seeing she did not move nor answer, he tilted his head to one side and surveyed her with interest.

“Hath much soft persuasion surfeited thee into deafness?” The color surged up into Rachel’s face.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, “not so!  Perhaps thou art but reluctant, then.”  He whirled upon the other children, cowering behind him.

“Is she wedded?” he demanded.

Frightened and trembling, they did not answer till he repeated the question and stamped his foot.  Then one of them shook his head.

“It is well.  I need not delay till a slave-husband were disposed of in the mines.  Hither, Unas!”

The fat servitor came forward.

“I know this taskmaster not, nor can I coax or press him into giving her up without the cursed formality of a document of gift from the Pharaoh.  Get thee back to Memphis with this,” he drew off a signet ring and gave it to the servitor, “and to the palace.  There have my scribe draw up a prayer to the Pharaoh, craving for me the mastership over the Israelite, Rachel,—­for household service.”  The fan-bearer laughed.  “Forget not, this latter phrase, else the Pharaoh might fancy I would take her to wife.  Haste thee! and bring back Nak and Hebset with thee to row the boat back, and help thee fetch her.  She may have a lover who might make trouble for thee alone.  Get thee gone.”