“And,” the old man interrupted, to quiet her and help her tell what she desired to say, “as Bai raised, he can overthrow him.  He will become, even more certainly than the dethroned monarch, the tool of the man who made him king.  But I know Aarsu the Syrian, and if I see aright, the time will come when he will himself strive, in distracted Egypt, rent by internal disturbances, for the power which, through his mercenaries, he aided others to grasp.  But child, what induced you to follow the army and this shameful profligate?”

The dying girl’s eyes sparkled, for the question brought her directly to what she desired to tell, and she answered as loudly and quickly as her weakness permitted: 

“I did it for your son’s sake, for love of him, to liberate Hosea.  The evening before I had steadily and firmly refused the wife of Bai.  But when I saw your son at the well and he, Hosea....  Oh, at last he was so affectionate and kissed me so kindly.... and then—­then....  My poor heart!  I saw him, the best of men, perishing amid contumely and disease.

“And when he passed with chains one thought darted through my mind......”

“You determined, you dear, foolish, misguided child,” cried the old man, “to win the heart of the future king in order, through him, to release my son, your friend?”

The dying girl again smiled assent and softly exclaimed: 

“Yes, yes, I did it for that, for that alone.  And the prince was so abhorrent to me.  And the shame, the disgrace—­oh, how terrible it was!”

“And you incurred it for my son’s sake,” the old man interrupted, raising her hand, wet with his tears, to his lips; but she fixed her eyes on Ephraim, sobbing softly: 

“I thought of him too.  He is so young, and it is so horrible in the mines.”

She shuddered again as she spoke; but the youth covered her burning hand with kisses, while she gazed affectionately at him and the old man, adding in faltering accents: 

“Oh, all is well now, and if the gods grant him freedom....”

Here Ephraim interrupted her to exclaim in fiery tones: 

“We are going to the mines this very day.  I and my comrades, and my grandfather with us, will put his guards to flight.”

“And he shall hear from my lips,” Nun added, “how faithfully Kasana loved him, and that his life will be too short to thank her for such a sacrifice.”

His voice failed him—­but every trace of suffering had vanished from the countenance of the dying girl, and for a long time she gazed heavenward silently with a happy look.  By degrees, however, her smooth brow contracted in an anxious frown, and she gasped in low tones: 

“Well, all is well.... only one thing.... my body.... unembalmed.... without the sacred amulets. . . .”

But the old man answered: 

“As soon as you have closed your eyes, I will give it, carefully wrapped, to the Phoenician captain now tarrying here, that he may deliver it to your father.”