deeply imprinted on his heart, as his—­he ventured to hope—­on hers.  She had since become a prophetess, who heard the voice of her God.  While the other maidens of his people were kept in strict seclusion, she was free to come and go at will, even among men, and spite of her hate of the Egyptians and of Hosea’s rank among them, she did not deny that it was grief to part and that she would never cease thinking of him.  His future wife must be as strong, as earnest, as himself.  Miriam was both, and quite eclipsed a younger and brighter vision which he had once conjured before his memory with joy.

He loved children, and a lovelier girl than Kasana he had never met, either in Egypt or in alien lands.  The interest with which the fair daughter of his companion-in-arms watched his deeds and his destiny, the modest yet ardent devotion afterwards displayed by the much sought-after young widow, who coldly repelled all other suitors, had been a delight to him in times of peace.  Prior to her marriage he had thought of her as the future mistress of his home, but her wedding another, and Hornecht’s oft-repeated declaration that he would never give his child to a foreigner, had hurt his pride and cooled his passion.  Then he met Miriam and was fired with an ardent desire to make her his wife.  Still, on the homeward march the thought of seeing Kasana again had been a pleasant one.  It was fortunate he no longer wished to wed Hornecht’s daughter; it could have led to naught save trouble.  Both Hebrews and Egyptians held it to be an abomination to eat at the same board, or use the same seats or knives.  Though he himself was treated by his comrades as one of themselves, and had often heard Kasana’s father speak kindly of his kindred, yet “strangers” were hateful in the eyes of the captain of the archers, and of all free Egyptians.

He had found in Miriam the noblest of women.  He hoped that Kasana might make another happy.  To him she would ever be the charming child from whom we expect nothing save the delight of her presence.

He had come to ask from her, as a tried friend ever ready for leal service, a joyous glance.  From Miriam he would ask herself, with all her majesty and beauty, for he had borne the solitude of the camp long enough, and now that on his return no mother’s arms opened to welcome him, he felt for the first time the desolation of a single life.  He longed to enjoy the time of peace when, after dangers and privations of every kind, he could lay aside his weapons.  It was his duty to lead a wife home to his father’s hearth and to provide against the extinction of the noble race of which he was the sole representative.  Ephraim was the son of his sister.

Filled with the happiest thoughts, he had advanced toward Tannis and, on reaching the goal of all his hopes and wishes, found it lying before him like a ripening grain-field devastated by hail and swarms of locusts.

As if in derision, fate led him first to the Hebrew quarter.  A heap of dusty ruins marked the site of the house where he had spent his childhood, and for which his heart had longed; and where his loved ones had watched his departure, beggars were now greedily searching for plunder among the debris.