He clapped his hands as if he were driving hens out of a garden, and while the prisoners took pails and with the guards, enjoyed the refreshing drink, their leader drew Joshua and Ephraim away from the road—­they could not be separated on account of the chain which bound their ancles together.

The little temple soon hid them from the eyes of the others, and the warder sat down on a step some distance off, first showing the two Hebrews, with a gesture whose meaning was easily understood, the heavy spear he carried in his hand and the hounds which lay at his feet.

He kept his eyes open, too, during the conversation that followed.  They could say whatever they chose; he knew the duties of his office and though, for the sake of good money he could wink at a farewell, for twenty years, though there had been many attempts to escape, not one of his moles—­a name he was fond of giving to the future miners—­had succeeded in eluding his watchfulness.

Yonder fair lady doubtless loved the stately man who, he had been told, was formerly a chief in the army.  But he had already numbered among his “moles,” personages even more distinguished, and if the veiled woman managed to slip files or gold into the prisoner’s hands, he would not object, for that very evening the persons of both would be thoroughly searched, even the youth’s black locks, which would not have remained unshorn, had not everything been in confusion prior to the departure of the convicts, which took place just before the march of Pharaoh’s army.

The watcher could not hear the whispered words exchanged between the degraded chief and the lady, but her humble manner and bearing led him to suppose that it was she who had brought the proud warrior to his ruin.  Ah, these women!  And the fettered youth!  The looks he fixed upon the slender figure were ardent enough to scorch her veil.  But patience!  Mighty Father Amon!  His moles were going to a school where people learned modesty!

Now the lady had removed her veil.  She was a beautiful woman!  It must be hard to part from such a sweetheart.  And now she was weeping.

The rude warder’s heart grew as soft as his office permitted; but he would fain have raised his scourge against the older prisoner; for was it not a shame to have such a sweetheart and stand there like a stone?

At first the wretch did not even hold out his hand to the woman who evidently loved him, while he, the watcher, would gladly have witnessed both a kiss and an embrace.

Or was this beauty the prisoner’s wife who had betrayed him?  No, no!  How kindly he was now gazing at her.  That was the manner of a father speaking to his child; but his mole was probably too young to have such a daughter.  A mystery!  But he felt no anxiety concerning its solution; during the march he had the power to make the most reserved convict an open book.

Yet not only the rude gaoler, but anyone would have marvelled what had brought this beautiful, aristocratic woman, in the grey light of dawn, out on the highway to meet the hapless man loaded with chains.