“Why did Ana wish to see me, Prince?”

“How can I tell?  Why does a man who is still young—­want to see a sweet and beautiful lady?  Oh!  I remember.  He had met your uncle at Tanis who inquired as to your health.  Perhaps that is why he wanted to see you.”

“I do not wish to hear about my uncle at Tanis.  He reminds me of too many things that give pain, and there are nights when one wishes to escape pain, which is sure to be found again on the morrow.”

“Are you still of the same mind about returning to your people?” he asked, more earnestly.

“Surely.  Oh! do not say that you will send me hence to——­”

“Laban, Lady?”

“Laban amongst others.  Remember, Prince, that I am one under a curse.  If I return to Goshen, in this way or in that, soon I shall die.”

“Ana says that your uncle Jabez declares that the mad fellow who tried to murder you had no authority to curse and much less to kill you.  You must ask him to tell you all.”

“Yet the curse will cling and crush me at the last.  How can I, one lonely woman, stand against the might of the people of Israel and their priests?”

“Are you then lonely?”

“How can it be otherwise with an outcast, Prince?”

“No, it cannot be otherwise.  I know it who am also an outcast.”

“At least there is her Highness your wife, who doubtless will come to comfort you,” she said, looking down.

“Her Highness will not come.  If you had seen Ana, he would perhaps have told you that she has sworn not to look upon my face again, unless above it shines a crown.”

“Oh! how can a woman be so cruel?  Surely, Prince, such a stab must cut you to the heart,” she exclaimed, with a little cry of pity.

“Her Highness is not only a woman; she is a Princess of Egypt which is different.  For the rest it does cut me to the heart that my royal sister should have deserted me, for that which she loves better—­power and pomp.  But so it is, unless Ana dreams.  It seems therefore that we are in the same case, both outcasts, you and I, is it not so?”

She made no answer but continued to look upon the ground, and he went on very slowly: 

“A thought comes into my mind on which I would ask your judgment.  If two who are forlorn came together they would be less forlorn by half, would they not?”

“It would seem so, Prince—­that is if they remained forlorn at all.  But I do not understand the riddle.”

“Yet you have answered it.  If you are lonely and I am lonely apart, we should, you say, be less lonely together.”

“Prince,” she murmured, shrinking away from him, “I spoke no such words.”