Of the ensuing day, Kenkenes had no very distinct memory.  Very fair and beautiful, one recollection remained—­a recollection of another figure on the eminence, and by the flash of white upthrown arms, and the blowing of a somber cloud of hair, this time it was a woman.  How the morning sun glittered on the shaken timbrel; how the spotless draperies went wild in the wind; how the group of lissome maidens on the sand below wound in and out, in a mazy dance; how the multitude was swept into transports of beatification; how the men became prophets and the women, psalmists; how the vast wilderness reverberated with a great chant of exultation—­all this he remembered as a sublime dream.

Thereafter, Israel moved inland and down the coast some distance, for the sea began to surrender its dead.  Of the stir and method of the removal he did not remember, but of the encampment and the reassembling of the tribes he recalled several incidents.  He was numb and sleep-heavy beyond words, and while leaning, in a semi-conscious condition, against some household goods, he was discovered by the owner, who was none other than the friendly son of Judah, his assistant in his search for Rachel in Pa-Ramesu.  The man’s honest joy over Kenkenes’ safety was good to look upon.  A few words of explanation concerning his very apparent exhaustion were fruitful of some comfort to the young Egyptian.  The Hebrew’s wife had a motherly heart, and the weary face of the comely youth touched it.  Therefore, she brought him bread and wine and made him a place in the shadow of her tent-furnishings where he might sleep till what time the family shelter could be raised.

But Kenkenes did not rest.  He fell asleep only to dream of Rachel, and awoke asking himself why he had abandoned the search for her; why he had left Egypt without her; and why he had not gone to Moses at once for aid to further his seeking through Israel.

He arose from his place, sick with all the old suspense and heartache.  He would begin now to look for Rachel and cease not till he found her or died of his weariness.

He stepped forth directly in the path of a party of women.  He moved aside to give them room, and glancing at the foremost, recognized her immediately as the Lady Miriam.  She stopped and looked at him.

“Thou art he who found Jehovah in Egypt?” she asked.

He bowed in assent.

“Thy faith is entire,” she commented.  “Also, have I cause to remember thee.  Thou didst display a courteous spirit in Tape, a year agone.”

“Thou hast repaid me with the flattery of thy remembrance, Lady Miriam,” he replied.

“Thy speech publishes thee as noble,” she went on calmly.  “Thy name?”

“Kenkenes, the son of Mentu, the murket.”

Her lips parted suddenly and her eyes gleamed.

“See yonder tent,” she said, indicating a pavilion of new cloth, reared not far from the quarters of Moses.  “Repair thither and await till I send to thee.”