The man was an ideal soldier of Egypt.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, but otherwise lean and lithe.  In countenance, he was dark,—­browner than most Egyptians, but with that peculiar ruddy swarthiness that is never the negro hue.  His duskiness was accentuated by low and intensely black brows, and deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes.  Although his features were marked by the delicacy characteristic of the Egyptian face, there was none of the Oriental affability to be found thereon.  One might expect deeds of him, but never words or wit.

He wore the Egyptian smock, or kamis—­of dark linen, open in front from belt to hem, disclosing a kilt or shenti of clouded enamel.  His head-dress was the kerchief of linen, bound tightly across the forehead and falling with free-flowing skirts to the shoulders.  The sleeves left off at the elbow and his lower arms were clasped with bracelets of ivory and gold.  His ankles were similarly adorned, and his sandals of gazelle-hide were beaded and stitched.  His was a somber and barbaric presence.  This was Atsu, captain of chariots and vice-commander over Pa-Ramesu.

His subordinates parted and gave him respectful path.  He delivered his orders in an impassive, low-pitched monotone.

“Out with them, and mark ye, no lashes now.  Leave the old and the nursing mothers.”

The drivers disappeared into the narrow ways of the encampment, and Atsu, with the scribes at his wheels, drove out where the avenue of sphinxes would have led to the temple of Imhotep.  Here was room for three thousand.  He alighted and, with the scribes who stood, tablets in hand, awaited the coming of the Israelites.

The camp emptied its dwellers in long wavering lines.  Into the open they came, slowly, and with downcast eyes, each with his remnant of a tribe.  Though the columns were in order, they were ragged with many and varied statures—­now a grown man, next to him a child, and then a woman.  Here were the red-bearded sons of Reuben, shepherds in skins and men of great hardihood; the seafaring children of Zebulon; a handful of submissive Issachar, and some of Benjamin, Levi, and Judah.

“Do we not leave the aged behind?” the scribe asked, indicating Deborah who came with Judah.

“Give her her way,” Atsu replied indifferently, and the scribe subsided.

The lines advanced, filling up the open with moody humanity.  A scribe placed himself at the head of each column, and as the hindmost Israelite emerged into the field the movement was halted.

If an eye was lifted, it shifted rapidly under the stress of desperation or suspense.  If any spoke, it was the rough and indifferent, whose words fell like blows on the distressed silence.  Many were visibly trembling, others had whitened beneath the tropical tan, and the wondering faces of children, who feared without understanding, turned now and again to search for their elders up and down the lines.