“So I think also, Ana.  But tell me, or ask Merapi, Moon of Israel, to tell me—­from what god?  Oh!  I say to you that a terrible power is afoot in this land and that the Prince Seti did well to refuse the throne of Egypt and to fly to Memphis.  Repeat it to him, Ana.”

Then he too was gone.

Now I returned in safety to Memphis and told all these tidings to the Prince, who listened to them eagerly.  Once only was he greatly stirred; it was when I repeated to him the words of Userti, that never would she look upon his face again unless it pleased him to turn it towards the throne.  On hearing this tears came into his eyes, and rising, he walked up and down the chamber.

“The fallen must not look for gentleness,” he said, “and doubtless, Ana, you think it folly that I should grieve because I am thus deserted.”

“Nay, Prince, for I too have been abandoned by a wife and the pain is unforgotten.”

“It is not of the wife I think, Ana, since in truth her Highness is no wife to me.  For whatever may be the ancient laws of Egypt, how could it happen otherwise, at any rate in my case and hers?  It is of the sister.  For though my mother was not hers, she and I were brought up together and in our way loved each other, though always it was her pleasure to lord it over me, as it was mine to submit and pay her back in jests.  That is why she is so angry because now of a sudden I have thrown off her rule to follow my own will whereby she has lost the throne.”

“It has always been the duty of the royal heiress of Egypt to marry the Pharaoh of Egypt, Prince, and having wed one who would be Pharaoh according to that duty, the blow cuts deep.”

“Then she had best thrust aside that foolish wife of his and wed him who is Pharaoh.  But that she will never do; Amenmeses she has always hated, so much that she loathed to be in the same place with him.  Nor indeed would he wed her, who wishes to rule for himself, not through a woman whose title to the crown is better than his own.  Well, she has put me away and there’s an end.  Henceforth I must go lonely, unless—­unless——­Continue your story, friend.  It is kind of her in her greatness to promise to protect one so humble.  I should remember that, although it is true that fallen heads sometimes rise again,” he added bitterly.

“So at least Jabez thinks, Prince,” and I told him how the Israelites were sure that he would be Pharaoh, whereat he laughed and said: 

“Perhaps, for they are good prophets.  For my part I neither know or care.  Or maybe Jabez sees advantage in talking thus, for as you know he is a clever trader.”

“I do not think so,” I answered and stopped.

“Had Jabez more to say of any other matter, Ana?  Of the lady Merapi, for instance?”

Now feeling it to be my duty, I told him every word that had passed between Jabez and myself, though somewhat shamefacedly.

“This Hebrew takes much for granted, Ana, even as to whom the Moon of Israel would wish to shine upon.  Why, friend, it might be you whom she desires to touch with her light, or some youth in Goshen—­not Laban—­or no one.”