“Nor have we.  Why need we go hence?  We shall abide here till thou shalt return.”

“In this place!” Kenkenes exclaimed, recoiling.  “Nay!  I shall be gone sixteen days at least.”

“We shall not fear to live in a tomb, we who have defied untombed death daily.  We shall remain here.”

“This hole—­this cave of death!”

“We have shelter, and by thine own words, none will molest us here.  We are not spoiled with soft living, nor would we take peril to any.  Without are fowls, herbs, roots, water—­within, security, meat and wine.  We shall not fear the dead whom, living, Joseph rebuked.  We shall be content and well housed.”

“But thou art wounded,” he essayed.

She scouted his words with heroic scorn.  “Nay, let us have no more.  If thou canst accomplish this thing for Rachel, do it with a light heart, for we shall be safe.  If thou art successful, Israel will rise up and call thee blessed; if thou failest, the sons of Abraham will still remember thee with respect.”

No humility, no cringing gratitude in this.  Queen Hatasu, talking with her favorite general, could not have commended him in a more queenly way.

To Kenkenes it seemed that their positions had been reversed.  He craved to serve them and they suffered him.

“I shall go then to-night,” he said simply.

“Nay, bide with us to-night, for thou art weary.  There is no need for such haste.”

He opened his lips to protest, his objections manifesting themselves in his manner.  But she waved them aside.

“Thou hast the marks of hard usage upon thee,” she said; “thou hast slaved for us since midday, and now the night is far spent.  Thine eyes are heavy for sleep, thy face is weary.  And before thee is a task which will require thy keenest wit, thy steadiest hand.  Thou owest it to Rachel and to thyself to go forth with the eye of a hawk and the strength of a young lion.”

Because of Rachel’s name in her argument he yielded and turned immediately to the subject of their lonesome residence in the haunted tomb.  “If aught befall me,” he said, “for I am in the unknowable hands of the Hathors, disguise thyself and Rachel.  If thou art skilled in altering thou canst find pigment among the roots of the Nile.  Dye her hair and stain her face, take the boat and go to my father’s house in Memphis.  He is Mentu, the murket to the Pharaoh—­a patriot and a friend to the kings.  He knows not the Hebrew, but he is generous, hospitable and kind to the oppressed of whatever blood.  Tell him Rachel’s trouble and of me.  I am his only child, and my name on thy lips will win thee the best of his board, the shelter of his roof, the protection of his right arm.  Wait for me, however, in this place till a month hath elapsed.

“Keep the amphorae filled with water, fresh every day, and preserve a stock of food within the tomb always to stand you in good stead if Rachel’s enemy discover her hiding-place and besiege it.”