“I do not know, Husband.  Yet of what will you talk with this Ana?  Of poems, I suppose, and silliness.  Or will it be perchance of Merapi, Moon of Israel, whom I gather both of you think so beautiful.  Well, have your way.  You tell me that I am not to accompany you upon this journey, I your new-made wife, and now I find that it is because you wish my place to be filled by a writer of tales whom you picked up the other day—­your ‘twin in Ra’ forsooth!  Fare you well, my Lord,” and she rose from her seat, gathering up her robes with both hands.

Then Seti grew angry.

“Userti,” he said, stamping upon the floor, “you should not use such words.  You know well that I do not take you with me because there may be danger yonder among the Hebrews.  Moreover, it is not Pharaoh’s wish.”

She turned and answered with cold courtesy: 

“Then I crave your pardon and thank you for your kind thought for the safety of my person.  I knew not this mission was so dangerous.  Be careful, Seti, that the scribe Ana comes to no harm.”

So saying she bowed and vanished through the curtains.

“Ana,” said Seti, “tell me, for I never was quick at figures, how many minutes is it from now till the fourth hour to-morrow morning when I shall order my chariot to be ready?  Also, do you know whether it is possible to travel from Goshen across the marshes and to return by Syria?  Or, failing that, to travel across the desert to Thebes and sail down the Nile in the spring?”

“Oh! my Prince, my Prince,” I said, “I pray you to dismiss me.  Let me go anywhere out of the reach of her Highness’s tongue.”

“It is strange how alike we think upon every matter, Ana, even of Merapi and the tongues of royal ladies.  Hearken to my command.  You are not to go.  If it is a question of going, there are others who will go first.  Moreover, you cannot go, but must stay and bear your burdens as I bear mine.  Remember the broken cup, Ana.”

“I remember, my Prince, but sooner would I be scourged with rods than by such words as those to which I must listen.”

Yet that very night, when I had left the Prince, I was destined to hear more pleasant words from this same changeful, or perchance politic, royal lady.  She sent for me and I went, much afraid.  I found her in a small chamber alone, save for one old lady of honour who sat the end of the room and appeared to be deaf, which perhaps was why she was chosen.  Userti bade me be seated before her very courteously, and spoke to me thus, whether because of some talk she had held with the Prince or not, I do not know.

“Scribe Ana, I ask your pardon if, being vexed and wearied, I said to you and of you to-day what I now wish I had left unsaid.  I know well that you, being of the gentle blood of Egypt, will make no report of what you heard outside these walls.”

“May my tongue be cut out first,” I answered.