During these negotiations Hosea had again realized his estrangement from his people, he was not even aware—­for what purpose the sacrifice in the desert was offered.  He also frankly acknowledged to Pharaoh’s councillors that he knew neither the grievances nor the requirements of the tribes, a course he pursued to secure to the Hebrews the right of changing or revising in any respect the offers he was to convey.

What better proposals could they or their leader desire?

The future was full of fresh hopes of happiness for his people and himself.  If the compact was made, the time had arrived for him to establish a home of his own, and Miriam’s image again appeared in all its loftiness and beauty.  The thought of gaining this splendid maiden was fairly intoxicating, and he wondered whether he was worthy of her, and if it would not be presumptuous to aspire to the hand of the divinely-inspired, majestic virgin and prophetess.

He was experienced in the affairs of life and knew full well how little reliance could be placed upon the promises of the vacillating man, who found the sceptre too heavy for his feeble hand.  But he had exercised caution and, if the elders of the people could but be won over, the agreement would be inscribed on metal tables, sentence by sentence, and hung in the temple at Thebes, with the signatures of Pharaoh and the envoys of the Hebrews, like every other binding agreement between Egypt and a foreign nation.  Such documents—­he had learned this from the treaty of peace concluded with the Cheta—­assured and lengthened the brief “eternity” of national covenants.  He had certainly neglected no precaution to secure his people from treachery and perjury.  Never had he felt more vigorous, more confident, more joyous than when he again entered Pharaoh’s chariot to take leave of his subordinates.  Bai’s mysterious hints and suggestions troubled him very little; he was accustomed to leave future anxieties to be cared for in the future.  But at the camp he encountered a grief which belonged to the present; surprised, angry, and troubled, he learned that Ephraim had secretly left the tent, telling no one whither he was going.  A hurried investigation drew out the information that the youth had been seen on the road to Tanis, and Hosea hastily bade his trusty shield-bearer search the city for the youth and, if he found him, to order him to follow his uncle to Succoth.

After the chief had said farewell to his men, he set off, attended only by his old groom.  He was pleased to have the adone—­[Corresponding to the rank of adjutant.]—­and subaltern officers who had been with him, the stern warriors, with whom he had shared everything in war and peace, in want and privation, show so plainly the pain of parting.  Tears streamed down the bronzed cheeks of many a man who had grown grey in warfare, as he clasped his hand for the last time.  Many a bearded lip was pressed to the hem of his robe, to his feet, and to the sleek skin of the noble Libyan steed which, pressing forward with arching neck only to be curbed by its rider’s strength, bore him through the ranks.  For the first time since his mother’s death his own eyes grew dim, as shouts of farewell rang warmly and loudly from the manly breasts of his soldiers.