“I mind me,” she continued after a little silence, “how tender and frail she was.  Thou wast as a strong tree beside her.  I seem to myself to be mighty compared to my memory of her.”

Deborah took the white hand that lay across her shoulder.  “Thou art like to thy father.  Thy mother was black-eyed and fragile—­born to the soft life of a princess.  Misfortune was her death, though she struggled to live for thee.  Praise God that thou art like to thy father, else thou hadst died in thine infancy.”

“Nay, hath my lot been sterner than the portion of all Israel?”

“Of a surety, thou canst guess it, for are there many of thy tribe like thee—­without a kinsman?”

Rachel shook her head, and the old woman continued absently:  “Of thy mother’s family there were four, but they died of the heavy labor.  Thy father, Maai, surnamed the Compassionate, was the eldest of six.  They were mighty men, tawny like the lion and as bold—­worthy sons of Judah!  But there is none left—­not one.”

“Ten!” Rachel exclaimed, “and not one remaineth!”

“Aye, and they died as though they were plague-smitten—­in pairs and singly, in a little space.”

Deborah felt a strong tremor run through the young figure against which she leaned, and the arm across her shoulder was withdrawn, that the hand might clear the eyes of their tears.

The old woman discreetly held her peace till the girl should recover.

“Thou must bear in mind, Rachel,” she began, after a long silence, “that Egypt had an especial grudge against thy house,—­hence, its especial vengeance.  Seti, the Pharaoh, began the oppression of the children of Israel, but the bondage was not all-embracing, in the beginning.  There were Hebrews to whom Egypt was indebted and chief among these was thy father’s grandsire, Aram.  Seti paid the debt to him by sparing his small lands and his little treasure and himself when he put Israel to toil.  Thy father’s father, thy grandsire, Elihu, younger brother to Amminadab, who was father-in-law to Aaron, came to his share of his father’s goods when Aram was gathered to his fathers.  This was in the latter days of Seti.  Thy grandsire sent his little treasure into Arabia and bought lands with it.  After many trials he caused to grow thereon a rose-shrub which had no period of rest—­blooming freshly with every moon.  And there he had the Puntish scentmaker on the hip, for the Arabic rose rested often.  The attar he distilled from his untiring flower, had another odor, wild and sweet and of a daintier strength.  When he was ready to trade he sent in a vial of crystal to Neferari Thermuthis and to Moses, then a young man and a prince of the realm, a few drops of this wondrous perfume.  Doubt not, the Hebrew prince knew that the gift came from a son of Israel.  The queen and Moses used the attar.  Therefore all purple-wearing Egypt must have it or die, since the fashion had been set within the boundaries of the throne.  Then did Elihu name a price for his sweet odor that might have been small had each drop been a jewel.  But Egypt opened her coffers and bought as though her idols had broken their silence and commanded her.”