“Men of Israel, are you mad?  Would you bring Pharaoh’s vengeance on us?”

They halted a little and their spokesman shouted: 

“We defy Pharaoh!  Our God will protect us from Pharaoh.  Drag him forth and kill him beyond the wall!”

Again they began to move, when a man, in whom I recognized Jabez, the uncle of Merapi, called aloud: 

“Cease!  If this Prince of Egypt has done insult to Jahveh by will and not by chance, it is certain that he will avenge himself upon him.  Shall men take the judgment of God into their own hands?  Stand back and wait awhile.  If Jahveh is affronted, the Egyptian will fall dead.  If he does not fall dead, let him pass hence unharmed, for such is Jahveh’s will.  Stand back, I say, while I count threescore.”

They withdrew a space and slowly Jabez began to count.

Although at that time I knew nothing of the power of the god of Israel, I will say that I was filled with fear as one by one he counted, pausing at each ten.  The scene was very strange.  There by the steps stood the Prince against the background of the curtain, his arms folded and a little smile of wonder mixed with contempt upon his face, but not a sign of fear.  On one side of him was I, who knew well that I should share his fate whatever it might be, and indeed desired no other; and on the other the priest Kohath, whose hands shook and whose eyes started from his head.  In front of us old Jabez counted, watching the fierce-faced congregation that in a dead silence waited for the issue.  The count went on.  Thirty.  Forty.  Fifty—­oh! it seemed an age.

At length sixty fell from his lips.  He waited a while and all watched the Prince, not doubting but that he would fall dead.  But instead he turned to Kohath and asked quietly if this ordeal was now finished, as he desired to make an offering to the temple, which he had been invited to visit, and begone.

“Our God has given his answer,” said Jabez.  “Accept it, men of Israel.  What this Prince did he did by chance, not of design.”

They turned and went without a word, and after I had laid the offering, no mean one, in the appointed place, we followed them.

“It would seem that yours is no gentle god,” said the Prince to Kohath, when at length we were outside the temple.

“At least he is just, your Highness.  Had it been otherwise, you who had violated his sanctuary, although by chance, would ere now be dead.”

“Then you hold, Priest, that Jahveh has power to slay us when he is angry?”

“Without a doubt, your Highness—­as, if our Prophets speak truth, I think that Egypt will learn ere all be done,” he added grimly.

Seti looked at him and answered: 

“It may be so, but all gods, or their priests, claim the power to torment and slay those who worship other gods.  It is not only women who are jealous, Kohath, or so it seems.  Yet I think that you do your god injustice, seeing that even if this strength is his, he proved more merciful than his worshippers who knew well that I only grasped the veil to save myself from falling.  If ever I visit your temple again it shall be in the company of those who can match might against might, whether of the spirit or the sword.  Farewell.”