“And where is Aarsu, the Syrian, your foe, who commands the Asiatic mercenaries, and who was to watch us with such fierce zeal?  I did not see him with the others.”

“He remained in Tanis with his troops.”

“To guard the palace?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then he commands many soldiers, and Pharaoh has confidence in him?”

“The utmost, though he ill deserves it.”

“And he is a Syrian, and therefore of our blood.”

“And more closely allied to us than to the Egyptians, at least so far as language and appearance are concerned.”

“I should have taken him for a man of our race, yet he is, as you were, one of the leaders in the army.”

“Other Syrians and Libyans command large troops of mercenaries, and the herald Ben Mazana, one of the highest dignitaries of the court—­the Egyptians call him Rameses in the sanctuary of Ra—­has a Hebrew father.”

“And neither he nor the others are scorned on account of their birth?”

“This is not quite so.  But why do you ask these questions?”

“I could not sleep.”

“And so such thoughts came to you.  But you have some definite idea in your mind and, if my inference is correct, it would cause me pain.  You wished to enter Pharaoh’s service!”

Both were silent a long time, then Ephraim spoke again and, though he addressed Joshua, it seemed as if he were talking to himself: 

“They will destroy our people; bondage and shame await those who survive.  My house is now left to ruin, not a head of my splendid herds of cattle remains, and the gold and silver I inherited, of which there was said to be a goodly store, they are carrying with them, for your father has charge of my wealth, and it will soon fall as booty into the hands of the Egyptians.  Shall I, if I obtain my liberty, return to my people and make bricks?  Shall I bow my back and suffer blows and abuse?”

Joshua eagerly whispered: 

“You must appeal to the God of your fathers, that he may protect and defend His people.  Yet, if the Most High has willed the destruction of our race, be a man and learn to hate with all the might of your young soul those who trample your people under their feet.  Fly to the Syrians, offer them your strong young arm, and take no rest till you have avenged yourself on those who have shed the blood of your people and load you, though innocent, with chains.”

Again silence reigned for some time, nothing was heard from Ephraim’s rude couch save a dull, low moan from his oppressed breast; but at last he answered softly: 

“The chains no longer weigh upon us, and how could I hate her who released us from them?”

“Remain grateful to Kasana,” was the whispered reply, “but hate her nation.”

Hosea heard the youth toss restlessly, and again sigh heavily and moan.

It was past midnight, the waxing moon rode high in the heavens, and the sleepless man did not cease to listen for sounds from the youth; but the latter remained silent, though slumber had evidently fled from him also; for a noise as if he were grinding his teeth came from his place of rest.  Or had mice wandered to this barren place, where hard brown blades of grass grew between the crusts of salt and the bare spots, and were gnawing the prisoners’ hard bread?