“Israel hath been a green tree, carried hither in seed and grown in the wheat-fields of Mizraim.  The herds and the flocks of the Pharaoh gathered under its branches and were sheltered from the sun by day and from the wolves by night.  The early Pharaohs loved it, the later Pharaohs used it and the last Pharaohs feared it.  For it grew exceedingly and overshadowed the wheat-fields and they said:  ’It will come between us and Ra who is our god and he will bless it instead of the wheat.  Let us cut it down and build us temples of its timber.’  But the Lord had planted the tree in seed and in its youth it grew under the tendance of the Lord’s hand.  And in later years, though it lent its shadow as a grove for the idols and temples of gods, the most of it faced Heaven, and for that the Lord loves it still.  The Pharaohs have lopped its branches, unmolested, but lo! now that the ax strikes at its girth, the Lord will uproot it and plant it elsewhere than in Mizraim.  But the soil will not relinquish it readily, for it hath struck deep.  There shall be a gaping wound in Mizraim where it stood and all the land shall be rent with the violence of the parting.”

The prophetess paused, or rather her voice died away as if she actually beheld the scene she foretold, and no more words were needed to make it plain.  Rachel’s hands were clasped before her breast.  “Sayest thou these things in prophecy?” she asked finally in an eager half-whisper.  Deborah’s eyes seemed to awaken.  She looked at Rachel a moment and answered with a nod.  The girl’s vision wandered slowly again toward the camp, and the sorrowful unrest of Israel subdued the inspired elation that had begun to possess her.  Her face clouded once more.  Deborah touched her.

“Trouble not thyself concerning these people.  They go forth to labor, but their burdens shall be lightened ere long.  As for thee and me—­” she paused and looked up toward the eminence on which the military headquarters were built.

“As for thee and me—­” Rachel urged her.  Deborah motioned in the direction she gazed.  “Come, let us make ready,” she said; “they are beginning.”

The Egyptian masters over Israel of Pa-Ramesu were emerging from the quarters.  They were, almost uniformly, tall, slender and immature in figure.  Dressed in the foot-soldier’s tunic and coif, they looked like long-limbed youths compared with the powerful manhood of the sons of Abraham.

Among them, in white wool and enameled aprons, was a number of scribes, without whom the official machinery of Egypt would have stilled in a single revolution.

The men advanced, sauntering, talking with one another idly, as if awaiting authority to proceed.

That came, presently, in the shape of an Egyptian charioteer.  The vehicle was heavy, short-poled, set low on two broad wheels of six spokes, and built of hard wood, painted in wedge-shaped stripes of green and red.  The end was open, the front high and curved, the side fitted with a boot of woven reeds for the ax and javelins of the warrior.  Axle and pole were shod with spikes of copper and the joints were secured with tongues of bronze.  The horses were bay, small, short, glossy and long of mane and tail.  The harness was simple, each piece as broad as a man’s arm, stamped and richly stained with many colors.