He had met a slave, justed with an equal and flung up his hands in surrender to his better.  He did not confess this to himself, but his words were admission enough.  Never would his high-born spirit have permitted him to make such a declaration to one slavish in soul.

The straightforward acknowledgment of defeat and the genuine concern in his voice were irresistible.  She answered him at once, distantly and calmly.

“Thou, as an Egyptian, hast honored me, a Hebrew, with thy notice.  I have deserved neither gift nor fee.”

“Nay, but let us put it differently,” he replied.  “I, as a man, have given thee, a maiden, offense, and having repented, would appease thee with a peace-offering.  Believe me, I do not jest.  By the gentle goddesses, I fear to speak,” he added breathlessly.

The Israelite’s blue eyes were veiled quickly, but the Egyptian guessed aright that she had hidden a smile in them.

“Am I forgiven?” he persisted.

“So thou wilt offend no further,” she said without raising her eyes.

“I promise.  And now, since the goddess hath refused mine offering, I may not take it back.  What shall I do with this?” he asked, holding up the collar of gold.

“Put it about thy statue’s neck,” she said softly.

Kenkenes gasped and retreated a step.  Instantly she was imploring his pardon.

“It was a forward spirit in me that made me say it.  I pray thee, forgive me.”

“Thou hast given no offense, but how dost thou know of this—­tell me that.”

“I came upon it by accident three days ago.  Several of the children had gone fowling for the taskmaster’s meal, and were so long absent that I was sent to look for them.  The path down the valley is old, and I have followed it with the idea of labor ever in my mind.  And this was a moment of freedom, so I thought to spend it where I had not been a slave, I went across the hills, and, being unfamiliar with them, lost my way.  When I climbed upon one of the great rocks to overlook the labyrinth, lo! at my feet was the statue.  I knew myself the moment I looked, and it was not hard to guess whose work it was.”

She paused and looked at him with appeal on her face.

“Thou hast told no one?”

“Nay,” was the quick and earnest answer.

“Thou hast caught me in a falsehood,” he said.  The statement was almost brutal in its directness.

But the question that came back swiftly was not less pointed.

“There was no frieze of bondmaidens—­naught of anything thou hast told me?”

“Nay, not anything.  I am carving a statue against the canons of the sculptor’s ritual for the sake of my love of beauty.  Until thou didst come upon it, I alone possessed the secret.  Thou knowest the punishment which will overtake me?”

“Aye, I know right well.  Yet fear not.  The statue is right cunningly concealed and none will ever find it, for the children were unsuccessful and the meals for the overseer will be brought him from the city hereafter.  And I will not betray thee—­I give thee my word.”