On her way back to the camp Rachel met Atsu, mounted and attended by a scribe, the taskmaster’s secretary.  The two officials were on their way to Memphis to worship in the great temple and to spend a night among free-born men.  Once every month, no oftener, did Atsu return to his own rank in the city.  Recognizing Rachel, he drew up his horse; the scribe rode on.

“Hast been in search of the Nile wind, Rachel?  The valley holds the day-heat like an oven,” he said.

“Nay, I did not go so far.  The darkness came too quickly.”

“Endure it a while.  I shall move the people into the large valley where they may have the north breeze and the water-smell after sunset, now that the summer is near.  I am glad I met thee.  Deborah tells me the water for the camp-cooking is turbid, and I doubt not the children draw it from some point below the wharf where the drawing for the quarry-supply stirs up the ooze.  Do thou go with the children in the morning when they are sent for the camp supply, and get it above the wharf.”

“I hear,” she answered.

“The gods attend thee,” he said, riding away.

“Be thy visit pleasant,” she responded, and turned again up the valley.

The taskmaster was forgotten at her second step, and her contrition and humiliation came back with a rush.  There was little sleep for her that night, so heavy was her heart.

The next morning Rachel obeyed Atsu and followed the children to the Nile.  Crossing the field, absorbed in her trouble, she did not hear the beat of hoofs or the grind of wheels until she was face to face with the attendants of a company of charioteers.  The troop of water-carriers had scattered out of the road-way and each little bronzed Israelite was bending with his right hand upon his left knee in token of profound respect.  Rachel hastily joined them.

When she looked again the retinue of servants had passed.  After them came a gilded chariot with a sumptuous Egyptian within.  By the annulets over his temples and the fringed ribbons pendent therefrom, the Israelite knew him to be royal.

Behind, a second chariot was driven by a single occupant, who wore the badges of princehood also.

The third was a chariot of ebony drawn by two prancing coal-black horses whose leathers and housings shone and jingled.  Rachel’s eyes met those of the driver and the life-current froze in her veins.  Har-hat, fan-bearer to the Pharaoh, late governor of Bubastis, drew up his horses and calmly surveyed her.  The action halted the chariots of a dozen courtiers following him.  One by one they came to a stand-still and each man peered around his predecessor until the fan-bearer became conscious of the pawing horses behind him.  He drove out of line and alighted.  With an apologetic wave of his hand, he motioned the procession to proceed and busied himself with the harness as if he had found a breakage.  Those that had passed were by this time some distance ahead and, missing the grind of wheels in their wake, looked back.  The fan-bearer beckoned to one of the attendants who had gone before, and the man returned.