“Nay, but what have I done to vex the gods?” Masanath insisted.  “O let me go hence.  Where are my servants?”

“It is better for thee to bide here,” the voice went on relentlessly.  “For outside the sheltering neighborhood of the chosen people, the hand of the outraged God shall overtake Egypt and scorch her throat with thirst and make her veins congeal for want of water.”

Masanath gained her feet, crying out wildly: 

“My servants!  Where are they?  Let me forth.”

The Israelite put an assuring arm about her.  “Thou wilt not dare to face the Nile again,” she warned.  “Stay with us.”

“To starve!  To perish of thirst!  To die of pestilence!  The gods have left us.  We are undone!”

“Aye, the gods have left you,” the voice continued harshly.  “Ye are given over to the vengeance of the God of Abraham.  Howl, Egypt!  Rend thyself and cover thy head with ashes.  Thy destruction is but begun.  For a hundred years thou hast oppressed Israel.  Now is the hour of the children of God!”

Masanath wrung her hands, but the voice went on.

“As the Nile flows, so hath the blood of Israel been wasted by the hand of Egypt.  Now shall the God of Abraham drain her veins, even so, drop for drop.  For the despoiling of Israel shall her pastures and stables be filled with stricken beasts—­for the heavy hand of the Pharaohs shall the heavens thunder and scourges fall.  And the wrath of God shall cool not till Egypt is a waste, shorn of her corn and her vineyards and her riches, and foul with dead men.”

Nothing could have been more vindictive than this disembodied voice.  Masanath thrust her fingers through her hair, and drawing her elbows forward, sheltered her face with them.

“When have I offended against the Hebrew?” she cried, sick with terror.  “Why should your awful God destroy the innocent and the friend of Israel among the people of Egypt?”

Rachel, who had stood beside her, with an increasing cloud on her face, now spoke in Hebrew.  There was mild protest in her tones.

“The plague will pass,” the voice from the inner crypt continued.  “Seven days will it endure, no more.”

“Deborah is mystic,” Rachel added softly, “and is gifted with prophetic eyes.  Much hath she suffered at Egypt’s hands, and her tongue grows harsh when she speaks of the oppression.”

“Nay, but let me go,” Masanath begged.  “Where are my servants?  Came they not after me when I fled?”

“None followed thee, Lady, and thy raft went adrift.”

“Let me out of this hideous place, then, for I must seek them.  They may be dead.”

Her tone was imperious, and Rachel, silently obedient, led her to the entrance and pushed aside the door.  Instantly the terrible turmoil over Egypt smote upon her ears; next she saw the Nile, moving slowly, black where its clear surfaces had been green, scarlet and froth-ridden where the sun had shone upon transparent ripples and white foam; after that, the strange odor came to her, recalling the smell of the altars, but now magnified till it was overpoweringly strong.  She sickened and turned away.