Kenkenes shook his head.

“Ah, theirs is pristine oratory—­occult eloquence,” the scribe said earnestly, “and she is mistress of the art.  She told the history of Israel and catalogued its wrongs in a manner that lacked only measure and music to make it a song.  But, Kenkenes, she did not move us to compunction and pity.  When she had done, we had not looked on a picture of suffering and oppression, but of insulted pride and rebellion.  Instead of compunction, she awakened admiration, instead of pity, respect.  For the moment she represented, not a multitude of complaining slaves, but a race of indignant peers.

“Meneptah—­ah! the good king,” the scribe went on, “was impressed like the rest of us.  But finally he showed her that the Israelites were what they were by the consent of the gods; that their unwillingness but increased the burden.  He pointed out the example of his illustrious sires as justification for his course; enumerated some of their privileges,—­the fertile country given them by Egypt, and the freedom that was theirs to worship their own God,—­and summarily refused to indulge them further.

“Then she became ominous.  She bade him have a care for the welfare of Egypt before he refused her.  Her words were dark and full of evil portent.  The air seemed to winnow with bat-wings and to reek with vapors from witch-potions and murmur with mystic formulas.  Every man of us crept, and drew near to his neighbor.  When she paused for an answer, the king hesitated.  She had menaced Egypt and it stirreth the heart of the father when the child is threatened.  He turned to Har-hat in his perplexity and craved his counsel.  The fan-bearer laughed good-naturedly and begged the Pharaoh’s permission to send her to the mines before she bewitched his cattle and troubled him with visions.  Har-hat’s unconcern made men of us all once more, but Meneptah shook his head.  ’The name of Neferari Thermuthis defends her,’ he said; ’let her go hence’.”

“‘And I take no amelioration to my people?’ she demanded.  ‘Nay,’ he replied, ‘not in the smallest part shall their labor be lessened.’

“Holy Isis, thou shouldst have seen her then, Kenkenes!

“She approached the very dais of the throne and, throwing up her arms, flung her defiance into the face of her sovereign.  It were treason to utter her words again.  I have seen men white and shaking from rage, but Meneptah never hath so much of temper to display.  Far be it from me to say that the king was afraid, but I tell you, Kenkenes, mine own hair is not yet content to lie flat.  She concentrated all the denunciatory bitterness of the tongue and pronounced and gloried in the doom of the dynasty, heaping the blame of its destruction upon the head of Meneptah!”

The scribe finished his story in a whisper.  Kenkenes was by this time sitting up, his eyes shining with interest and wonder.

“Gods!  Hotep, thou dost make me creep.”