“Pepi!” she cried.  “What brings thee here?”

“I have lost the Israelite,” he faltered.

“Thou hast lost Rachel!”

“Hear me, my Lady, I pray thee.  Thou knowest we were to stop at the Marsh of the Discontented Soul to leave a writing on the tomb for the son of Mentu.  So we did.  The Israelite bade me stand away from the shore lest we be seen.  I put out into midstream and while mine eyes were attracted for a space toward the other shore, a boat drew up at the Marsh.  I started to return, but before I could reach the place, the Israelite—­the man—­they were in—­each other’s arms.”

Masanath clasped her hands happily, but the servant went on, in haste.  “It was the son of Mentu, I know, my Lady.  He was wondrous tall, and the Israelite was glad to see him—­”

“O, of a surety it was Kenkenes,” Masanath interrupted eagerly.

“Nay, but hear me, my Lady,” the serving-man protested, his distress evident in his voice.  “I moved away and turned my back, for I knew they had no need of me.  Once, twice, I looked and still they talked together.  But, alas! the third time I looked, it was because I heard sounds of combat, and I saw that the son of Mentu and several men were fighting.  One, whom by his fat figure I took to be Unas, was pursuing the Israelite.  I would have returned to help her, but the dreadful night overtook me before I could reach her—­and as thou knowest,—­none moved thereafter.

“When the darkness lifted, I was off the wharves at On, where my boat had drifted.  I halted only long enough to feed, for I was famished, and with all haste I returned to the Marsh.  None was there.  I went to the house in Memphis, but it was dark and closed.  Next I visited the home of Mentu and asked if Rachel were there, but the old housekeeper had never heard of such a maiden.  But when I asked if the young master had returned, she asked me where I had been that I had not heard he was dead.  And having said, she shut the door in my face.  I think he was within, and she would not answer me ‘aye’ or ‘nay,’ but I know that she told the truth concerning the Israelite.”

Masanath, who had stood, the picture of dismay and apprehension during the last part of the recital, seized his arm.

“Hast thou had an eye to the master?” she demanded in a fierce whisper.

“Aye,” he answered quickly.  “I have followed him like a shadow, and this I know.  Nak and Hebset were here when I came, but they went that same night, each in a different direction, to search further for her.  They returned to-night, but I know not whether they brought one with them.”

Masanath clasped her hands and thought for a moment, a mental struggle evidenced on her little face by the rapid fluctuations of color.

“Get thee down to the kitchens, Pepi,” she said presently, “and if Nari hath come, send her up to me.  Give thyself comfort and remain in the palace.  It may be that I shall need thee.”