PART II.

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CHAPTER I.

Eighteen times has the year been born, grown old, and died, since in the vaulted sarcophagus, in the city of Abydos Hatsu, Miriam, and Alric, stood and spoke with one another.

In the great scrolls that chronicled the history of Egypt’s national life, one can read how after leaving the city of Abydos, with her retinue, the princess journeyed to the royal city, where to meet her, reposing in a golden chariot, came King Tothmes the Second.

You will read how the Princess alighting from her chariot, went on foot, to the King, then, kneeling upon the earth kissed with her red lips, his sandalled feet and the hem of his robe.

That, when she then arose, she was so wan, that those who beheld her feared lest death would snatch her from her bridegroom’s arms!

You will read, how the mighty sovereign Tothmes the Second, recognizing in Hatsu, his long absent sister, clapped his hands, and laughed for joy, and then of how the trumpets pealed! and the bells rang out! You will read that the wedding day dawned, and that great was the splendor of the raiment wherewith all the court were decked, of how the High Priest Zelas stood for the first time before the people and because of the exceeding glory, and brightness of his presence how some were stricken blind and some fell dead.

You will read how peace and prosperity filled the land, how all industries flourished. How the sainted king, and his sister, the queen, lived in perfect happiness. Their only sorrow being, that no child came to them.

And how at last, after many years, the prayers of the faithful and holy ones, were answered. For Queen Hatsu walked upon the upper court of her palace holding out to the people her hour old son.

You will read of the joy with which Egypt welcomed this child and then it will be seen that the little Prince grew and throve and was his father’s constant playmate and companion.

You will read how all that pertained to the dealings with foreign nations was entrusted to Alric, Mizram’s great general. And how in the campaigns into Punt, and the far regions beyond, the Queen, Hatsu, led the Army, fighting like a man in the field, and sharing the brunt of war with her soldiers. Thus was it, until the time of which we now shall speak.

CHAPTER II.

The city residence of Alric, general in command of Their Majesties’ forces, was within the palace enclosure.

The house was two stories in height, the ground being used for the servants’ quarters, offices, store-rooms, and the like, while the upper floor, was divided into commodious apartments and the flat top roof covered with linen awnings, forming a luxurious roof garden, where the master, his family and friends, were wont to spend their waking hours after sunset, for in Egypt the storms are so infrequent, that only once or twice in a hundred years is there any down pouring.

The structure of the house, was of burnt brick, and built in the form of a quadrangle. In the center was a court, laid out in walks that were bright with beds of flowers, and foliage plants, all glistening with the spray, thrown upon them by innumerable fountains. There too, were tanks full of brilliant colored, swiftly darting fish, and pools where the Lotus blossoms, (flower and leaf,) grew and throve casting a penetrating sweetness upon the air.

The stairway (as in all Egyptian mansions) was upon the outer side of the building, the floors were of some composite material and formed into squares of red and blue checker work, over which were laid rugs of white fur and large mats of colored camel’s hair. About the rooms were scattered chairs, and divans, and tables of exquisite workmanship, the woods wonderfully polished and inlaid with gold and precious stones. And the chairs and lounges were cushioned and upholstered in rich silken stuffs.

In the dining hall stood a huge sandal wood side-board not at all unlike in its fashioning, those used in houses a century ago and on this side-board were ranged golden flagons holding choice wines and cordials, golden filigree baskets, filled with fruits and flowers, golden goblets, and loving cups, golden ewers (or finger bowls) and delicate pottery; and there too, were to be found knives, and forks, and spoons.

In this room were many little round tables covered with dainty linen cloths of purest white, beautifully embroidered about their edges in representation of roses, ferns, fruits, or berries.

The walls were hung with trophies of the chase (for the Egyptian gentlemen were great hunters—and fishermen too) and in this dining room in the city house of Alric some famous artist had painted on the ceiling allegorical figures representing Pleasure, Plenty, and Hospitality; in this room as in all the others there was a charcoal stove because during the year there are chilly days in Egypt.

Then there was the Library where on shelf after shelf, lay the papyrus and parchment scrolls holding a wealth of literature the science, history, poetry and fiction of many centuries.

Beyond the Library after passing through a stone court one came to the bath. This was a high ceilinged apartment sweet and cool and fragrant and in its centre was set a deep pool of ever running water. All along the walls of this room were closets in which every article necessary for the bath was to be found. Brushes soft and hard, rough, and smooth, towels, ungents, oils, powders, perfumes and bags of brans and spices. This was not simply a luxury as in Egypt the preservation of health made it necessary to bathe at least five times daily.

Seated at a table in his Library was the General in Chief of the Egyptian army and about him were gathered his staff.

Time had dealt kindly with Alric; his clear skin showed no wrinkling, his mouth was still firm, his lips red, his hair (worn in the fashion of his youthful days) was thick and lustrous although it showed the touch of frost here and there, but there was in the stern firm face of the general no reminder of the merry captain of the guards.

“Have you heard my lord,” said one of the officers leaning forward, “that our King’s new ships are exciting the admiration of all foreign nations?”

“Why should they not?” cries another. “Who ever before had ships propelled at the same time by both oars and sails! each ship requiring thirty rowers and seventy sailors to man her?”

“Is it true,” asks another, “that an expedition is soon to be sent out to Punt to procure spice trees for our Botanical gardens?”

“Let us hope,” adds a handsome fellow, “that the ugly old Queen will not make this an opportunity to pay us another visit! never did I behold such a human monstrosity!”

“But I have later news still,” says another, taking as he speaks his cigarette from his lips and watching the smoke curl lazily up.

“Our chancellor of state has by the King’s command, ordered that the supply of straw shall no longer be brought to the brick yards hereafter, the Israelites must gather their own straw when the day’s stint is over.”

A man with a cynical face broke in upon his neighbor’s talk. “This is done,” he said, “to give these strangers less time for rest, and if possible weaken their bodily force.”

“It is true,” said another, “that they breed like lice and that the providing of grain and other produce for the consumption of the Israelites, depletes the granaries of Mizram at least one half.” “As for their appetites,” said Alric smiling, “I will not gainsay that they are a hearty people, and why should they not be hungry? Surely the bread of the laboring man should be sweet, but my dear Belthazur, I can not agree to the Lord Chancellor’s dictum as regards prolificness, for my wife Miriam is an Israelite, and no child has blessed our bed lo! these many years.”

“I did not know, my lord,” said the young officer blushing hotly, “that my Lady Miriam was an Israelite. I am from a distant Nome, and but a few years in the King’s service, and so I beg you, pardon me.”

“Tut, tut,” said the General, smiling kindly upon the young soldier, “the Lady Miriam is an individual Israelite, and we speak of the people, so I pray you go on.” “To me,” said another, “it is exasperating to see how humbly, how uncomplainingly these foreigners take every new infliction; if they even murmured, there might be something interesting in it, but by the gods! they say no word and bow lower and lower in quiet humility under each burden.”

“And,” added another, “go on increasing more rapidly than ever.”

“But,” said one who had not yet spoken, “none can call them coward or weakling who ever knew an Israelite to forsake his faith, he may be bound and forced into a bodily submission, but his soul, he keeps loyal and steadfast to the service of his one God, Jehovah.”

“Yes,” said the cynical man, “had they been less obstinate in their religious beliefs doubtless through their women, Israel could long since have gained freedom and have been allowed to depart, for where can one find such beautiful women or such prudes? Isis should by rights turn them into cats! It would be an easy matter as their claws are already made.”

A general laugh followed, and many were the mirthful questions put to the rather confused officer.

“What you say respecting the loyalty of the Israelites for their religion is true,” said the General. “The Lady Miriam was a slave to the Princess Hatsu, and by her presented to me as free wife upon the royal wedding day. She hath been in all things loyal and obedient, faithful and true, but she has reared no altar in my home save to the one God, and that altar is within her heart.”

“Was the Queen’s mother an Israelite?” asks one. “I have heard it so said, because of the young Prince’s likeness to that race.”

“Nay, nay,” answered Alric. “The Queen’s mother came from far to the northward, where she told her husband (the King) there fell through many moons of the year a rain, that was white, and lay like a carpet of purity over the brown earth.”

“There were those,” says the cynical man, “when the Queen Hatsu appeared upon her balcony, an hour after the birth of her son, with the child in her arms, that did question the truth of her having given Egypt an heir, but they were foreign born and from afar, and did not know that Egyptian women resent with scorn the plaint of child-bed weakness and such dalliance, and so rise at once the pang is spent, to fulfill their housewifely ministrations.”

“And, by the way,” quoth another, “what ever did become of the boy, the child that the King Tothmes the first bought at the same time as he did Queen Hatsu’s mother?”

“That will never be known,” said Alric quietly. “It is a secret that the King buried with his own body. There is a tale (I cannot vouch for its truth) that once upon a time, in answer to this same question, one (who was doubtless demented, or addled with wine) did say that the child became in time our great High Priest Zelas, but on the morrow this man was found lying dead and no one doubts that the wrath of Osirus overtook him! but let us leave these unsolvable speculations, and return to the Israelites. I doubt the wisdom of their retention.”

“Let me speak to your question most noble General.” It was a new voice—the voice of the youngest son of Tothmes the first, brother to the reigning King.

“We should miss the skilled labor of the Israelites. In a thousand industrial ways they pay amply for their keep.”

CHAPTER III.

Even as he speaks there is a shuffling of feet heard, and into the room led by a beautiful child—a boy of eight years old—comes a something that makes even the strong men present involuntarily shrink, as they all rise and bow low before it.

The creature is robed in white and scarlet, and on his brow there is fitted a crown of gold, glittering with diamonds, and rubies, emeralds and pearls.

His protruding, wandering eyes have a blank stare, his full, wide open, drooling lips are mumbling something, but he has a firm grasp on the child’s hand, and the child leads him.

“It is the King,” cries a sweet treble voice. “The King, my father, and we have run away from our good Miriam, for we are tired of our clay dolls, are we not, my father?”

“Are we not, my father; are we not, my father?” mumbles the idiot, and then looking into the child’s face, he falls into a fit of immoderate laughter and in the midst of it a woman enters. Although long past youth she is as slight as a girl, typically Egyptian in feature and coloring. She has about her something individual and distinctive and she is clad in a costume that is masculine in most of its make-up. Her upper garment is a tightly-fitting waist, with a full skirt that reaches just to below the knee and made of bright scarlet stuff. Over this she wears a corslet of finely wrought, flexible gold that clings to her slight, beautiful figure like a glove. In lieu of sleeves she is literally covered by bands of diamonds from forearm to wrist. A broad collar of diamonds encircles her throat. Upon her head is a cap, sewn thick with jewels, and her feet and legs are encased in sandals and leggins like those worn by the officers of the Egyptian army.

As she enters the men salute her as their superior officer. She in return lifts one of her small hands to her jeweled cap in token of recognition.

Thus she passes on until she reaches the side of the King, when, laying her hand firmly upon his shoulder, she says some gentle words to him that stay his mirth, that transform him, for his leering grin gives place to a solemn closing of the thick lips over the great wolfish teeth, and, seating himself in a chair he says slowly and distinctly: “Hatsu, the Goddess Queen, will speak my wishes”; but his eyes look longingly at the boy, beside his chair, the sunny-haired boy, whose hand is still clasped within his own—the little Prince, his son, who nestles his golden head against his mother’s gown.

“The King,” says Queen Hatsu gravely, “the great King Tothmes the Second, my saintly husband, bids me speak lest the effort of words too much weary his great mind.

“He wishes that among ourselves (as among trusted and bosom friends) we speak fully concerning the Israelites, and that this might be the better accomplished he has called to private audience the two learned men who have of late come out of Midian to plead Israel’s cause with Egypt. One of these men has strong claim to the throne’s affection, for our late lamented father and King had a twin sister, whom he fondly loved. This sister did take from the Nile’s bosom an infant, and yearning toward it as a mother yearns for her child, the Princess made the waif her own and reared him as a prince of the land; great of mind was this adopted son; his play was study, his friends the sages; gentle and good was he, slow to anger and of much compassion, but silent was he because of a faltering in his speech. So grew he into early manhood, then on a sudden he vanished. Egypt knew him no more. ’Tis said the Princess sped his going and being an Israelite he returned to his own. Now he has come again into Egypt and with him is his brother, Aaron, to make plea for the loosing of his people. We would have this matter speedily settled, that we may turn our thoughts upon more important matters, for you will recall that we have sent an embassy to her most gracious highness the Queen of Punt, asking her to be again our guest, and we must bring her thither in all pomp and honor, and it ill becomes us to make her a witness to the wailings of the Israelites.”

She has never let her eyes wander from the face of the King, as she has spoken, nor does she lift them when Alric says: “Gracious Queen and sovereign lady, who is there in Egypt that shall dispute the wisdom of our sainted sovereign, and surely we all know that people everywhere in the land are saying that the man Moses, and his brother, Aaron, come to Mizram vested with more than human power, that shall make Egypt suffer if she refuse to let Israel go.”

A voice interrupts Alric. It is the calm, clear voice of the King’s brother. “The King,” he says haughtily, “is all powerful! His will prevails. He rules Egypt’s night as well as Egypt’s day. He need not fear harm through the threats of Moses and Aaron. Superstition and ignorant fear have no place with Egypt’s King and Egypt’s councillors! Let us bid Gethro’s son go back to his sheep! let him seek among the Midian hills a weakly race that listens trembling to old housewives’ prophecies! Nay, nay, we should be mad to rid ourselves of such skilled workmen. My lord King, speak thou to these foolish ones and say Israel shall abide.”

It was Hatsu who replied: “It is well,” she said slowly, “that we have one among us so keen for the welfare and interest of his brother the King and for the little Prince, the King that is to be, and while all the words that thou hast spoken are wise, the King shall, in his own good time, say HIS royal will.” It was at this juncture that the child spoke.

“My mother,” he said, “how can the Israelites do good work for Egypt when they are being famished and beaten? and why do you, my good uncle, wish to bring suffering upon our dear Miriam, for Miriam is an Israelite? She does not worship the many gods of Egypt! I am the Prince Royal, the great King’s only son, and I would make my father say that Israel shall go!”

As the child began his speech the idiot had leaned forward in his chair and a light came into his dull eyes, a something of intelligence, as he replied: “Let Israel go! Let Israel go!”

But what had come to the Queen? Was she for all her soldierly bearing a wilful woman? Surely no other motive could have so changed the current of her purpose! surely it was that which made her happening by chance to look into the General’s eyes to say:

“Child, child, hold thy peace! It is the great King’s will that Israel shall not go, but go on to bitterer bondage, to a more intense servitude.” “But, my mother, listen!” cried the child, “he said go, and not go on.” It was then Miriam entered and Hatsu turned wearily to her saying: “Take him hence. His ceaseless prattle disturbs the Monarch’s great thought.”

It was some power, mightier than man, that made the silent, gentle Miriam answer: “My Queen, fail not to remember, that out of the mouths of babes comes perfect wisdom, God’s own truth! Thy son is a prophet! Listen to his plea ere it be too late! for the wrath of Jehovah, when it is kindled, does not quench till His will is done! The wrath of the God of Israel shall ere long darken this land! Hark, ye! has all your years of binding broken our strength? Our children wax strong! our cattle multiply! Listen to wisdom ere it be too late! listen to the great King’s counsel! and let Israel go!” Then in the profound stillness, she stretched out her hand to the child, who, disentangling his other hand with much effort from his father (who was only stayed from following in obedience to some whispered words of the Queen), the two departed.

CHAPTER IV.

Then it was that Hatsu spoke. “Bring in the prophets of Israel,” she said, “that they may hear the King’s decree and so waste no more time in idle hoping.”

And into the apartment were ushered two men.

Both were far past middle life. One was small and thin, with pinched features and bright, gray eyes; the other was tall and grandly formed, and both were in the garb of shepherds.

They stood two mute figures before the chair of Tothmes the Second, and although it was the custom of the age to bend low the knee before sovereignty, neither man did aught save to wait his bidding.

It was the Princess Hatsu who addressed them.

“We have bidden you to come hither,” she said, “that you might, oh great Poet and Lawgiver of Israel, speak with the freedom of a friend to us, of that, which has brought you back after many years into Egypt.”

It was Aaron who spoke. Yet while his sweet, strong voice told the story, the eyes of all were fixed upon the silent lips of Moses.

“Great Queen of Egypt,” began Aaron (and all remembered that to the poor idiot he addressed never a word). “There stands before you on this day, an instrument of the Almighty. One who by the will of the All Powerful, shall in time, rear out of ruins and ashes, out of ignorant, broken-spirited slaves, a great and enduring nation; a people that shall live with the riches of this globe when Egypt is but a faded memory. Of this glory that is to be, Moses is promised no portion, and no place, and being meekest of all men that are upon the face of the earth, he is satisfied to be the humblest servant of his Lord. There is for him no glory but the glory of God. Moses has dwelt always, in spirit, in Egypt. He has never day or night ceased to think upon the bondage of his people. And who knows the purposes of Mizram better than this son of Israel that stands before you. He is the adopted son of Pharaoh’s great daughter. Aye it is from out of the tenderness of his heart for his adopted mother, and his adopted kinsmen, that he has pleaded with the God of Israel to stay His hand, that he might warn Egypt of the woes that shall before long befall her if she still holds Israel in thrall. Therefore he asks, oh gracious Queen, that thou loosen the cords, and open the gates, and bid thy bondsmen depart in peace.”

“Spare thy prayer.” It was the King’s brother that spoke. “We fear not thy one God, so hurl thy threats quickly that we may laugh them to scorn.” There was no look of anger in the gentle face, and no tone of bitterness in the strong, sweet voice that said:

“Our God hath thus spoken to Moses, His Prophet: ‘Oh thou, who feedest thy flocks beside the green pastures, and the still waters, arise and get thee down into Egypt, and take with thee Aaron, thy brother, that he may speak for thee, and say thou, unto her, who holds the hearts of her people in the hollow of her woman’s hand: “Hear, oh Egypt, harken unto the voice of the God of Israel. Lo! behold! the cry of Israel has reached the Mercy Seat and the wailing must cease.” Thus saith the Lord. “Or most surely Egypt shall learn the power of the Most High.”’

“Hark, ye, oh Queen, an army shall fall upon Egypt and devour her substance; its ranks shall be unseen; its warriors shall be called famine, fever, pestilence and death. Take thou our challenge, oh stubborn of heart, for we two standing unarmed, save for our shepherd’s staffs, shall alone abide unharmed in your midst when the will of our God shall be accomplished to the uttermost. Aye, not one hair of our heads shall ye touch for we are the anointed of Heaven. Listen, oh Queen, the princes of this world come to naught! Kingdoms fall and are forgotten, but the glory of the God of Israel remaineth forever. Once, yet again, for the love he bears the home of his youth, for the land that heard his first cry, does Moses plead: Oh Mizram, loose thy vain pride and let Israel go.”

“And who is thy God?” (It was Alric who spoke.) “Show us some sign by which we may be convinced of his power.”

Then the silent Moses lifted a small, lithe rod, which he held in one of his hands, and, lo! it was a rod no longer; but a serpent, the enemy of man! And it gazed with hungry eyes and spake with a hissing tongue! Then Alric drew from out his tunic a similar rod and it, too, changed into a scorpion, larger and fiercer than that, which the man Moses had created, and these two accursed objects, viewing each other, forgot man, and engaged in mortal combat the one with the other, and, lo! the serpent of Moses swallowed the serpent of Alric, and so doing, vanished.

With a laugh Alric threw down his wand.

“Thy skill, oh free Israelite,” he said, “exceedeth mine. What say you of this power as a test of the God of Israel’s might to perform upon Egypt, that which He threatens?”

The Prince had watched with keenest interest and he now replied, rather than the Princess: “No test of foolish magic will move our King from his purpose, believe me. I speak both the will of the King and his sainted Queen, when I say Israel will abide in Egypt,” and as though hushed by a power that she could not baffle, while her heart and soul were filled with protest, Hatsu held her peace.

Then Aaron spoke: “But Israel shall go and Egypt shall open her gates and cry, ‘Depart, depart, ere the remnant of us be lost forever.’ Listen! In some near at hand day, Nature shall break no law, when she makes this fair land a chaos of misery! Your rivers and lakes shall be like unto blood, and the fish that is in them shall die and the people shall turn away with loathing, though their throats be parched and their thirst be intolerable. Then shall the waters breed frogs, and they shall be tame in their boldness, and go up into the houses, and consume all that there is therein, from the fair hangings on the palace walls, to the dough in the humblest dwellers’ kneading troughs, and then if my people be not free, the dust of the land shall become fleas, and lice, and these shall fall upon man and beast and devour their bodies while they yet live, and then if wisdom comes not to thee, oh Egypt, there shall rise swarms of flies that shall buzz and sting without ceasing and a murrain shall come on thy beasts, the cattle and the horses and the camels, the oxen and the sheep, and a boil shall follow, breaking forth with blains upon man and beast! Then upon Egypt a tempest shall fall, whose like was never known—a tempest of hail that shall cut like a sword of fire that shall kill—of wind that howls, and tears, and destroys; and the hail shall smite the field, and the fire from heaven shall consume the cattle, and every green thing shall die! The trees shall perish! The flax shall be useless for the loom! The barley shall give no yield! Then shall come the locusts, singing a mournful song! They shall cover all things that be left, and then, be ye warned, if thou still vaunt thyself, there shall come a midnight wherein all the first born of the land shall die! The first born of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne and the first born of the lowliest in the realm! No hearth shall be spared! Listen, oh Queen! give heed to my word, oh councillors! for what the Lord saith that will He surely perform.”

It was with the same relentlessness that the Queen made answer:

“Go back, Shepherd Prophets, to your flocks and herds! Your threatenings we do not heed! In the name of King Tothmes the Second of Egypt, I bid you depart, and wish you peace.” The great Lawgiver felt, as the queen spoke, a hand upon his robe, and looking down beheld it in the grasp of the fingers of the idiot King. And he heard softly, but distinctly, these words: “Let Israel go! Let Israel go!” And it stirred in his grand soul a tender pity.

“Israel shall go,” he said gently, “and thy will (which thy people feign to misinterpret) is remembered in love, by the God of all the earth. Egypt shall harden her heart, and the sorrows of her sin shall fall upon her; but when Israel goes out thy soul shall go, too, and, leaving its poor tenement of clay, will inherit a better kingdom, wherein our God shall give thee light.”

CHAPTER V.

In one of the summer houses—or arbors—of the King’s garden, Miriam sat that day as the sun went down, her eyes fixed upon the forms of the King, and the little Prince, his son, who were busily at play with a mimic squadron in one of the smaller tanks or pools. So intent was her watching that she was startled to find the King’s brother standing beside her and mindful of her duty to royalty she arose.

“Nay, nay, my lady,” said the prince, “do not rise to do me reverence! It is more meet that I should bend to thee.” Miriam paid little heed to these words. She had been reared amid the meaningless flattery of the court, but she nevertheless resumed her seat, and was not surprised to have the Prince take the vacant place beside her. “It is to be regretted, my lady,” he said, “that you did not linger in the council chamber to-day and hear the great prophet speak Egypt’s doom! Your Moses (through the lips of Aaron his brother) bids us prepare for many calamities, and at Nature’s door he lays them all! wind, rain, hail, a devouring insect horde, and then, if we hold Israel still, the grim spectre called Death will make a gleaning of Mizram’s first born.”

“All this have I heard from the Queen, my lord,” replied Miriam quietly. “And it will surely befall, as he has said, and, when it is accomplished, and Israel goes out, you will be the King.” The Prince drew nearer to Miriam. “And where wilt thou be in that day?” he said slowly, and his eyes looked into hers with something that had a mingled motive (for Miriam was too pure of soul to inspire only carnal love, and for Miriam the Prince had felt an absorbing passion lo, these many years). “Nay,” she answered. “It matters not to me, save that I wish thee well, and pray that thy reign may be one of peace, and prosperity, to Egypt.” “And where wilt thou be, when Tothmes is dead and I am King?” he said. “Sire,” she made answer, “I am an Israelite. When my people go hence I shall not be left in Egypt.” “But the child,” he said, and as he uttered the word it seemed as though he sought through the word to read her inmost soul. “The child, can you bear to part from him?” She laid her hand upon her heart and paled as though his words had the hurt of a blow; but she lifted her sweet, untroubled eyes to his face and said: “I, too, have thought of this parting from the child, but did Aaron not tell you, that when you sit upon the throne, the little Prince shall be no more. Nay,” she said, as though speaking to herself, “I will not leave him in Egypt, I will not leave him, until God takes him.”

A madness seemed to sweep over the Prince. He drew closer to Miriam’s side and whispered: “You shall not go hence, life of my life, soul of my soul. I have prayed to all the gods that the famine, and the fever, the pestilence, and the thirst may come! That yonder gibbering idiot, yonder fatherless child, may give up the ghost; that Hatsu may fall dead, and you alone be spared. Then may Israel go, if you, beloved, remain, my queen, sharing my throne. You who since my earliest boyhood have reigned supreme in my soul. I will be so tender to you, so much your slave, that ere I die you will love me, and in your love my highest desire will be fulfilled. Listen, what I tell you is true. Yonder Prince is but a Prince in name! He has no claim of heirship to the throne! He is a nameless waif, his parentage unknown; but for your sake, for your love, I would set him before the people, and call him King. And so, sweet one, go not out with Israel, but abide in Mizram, for the child’s sake.” As he still speaks she puts her hand upon her heart, then she lays her head back against the wall of the summer house, and to his horror, life seems departing from her! She grows ghastly to look upon. Terror stricken, conscience smitten (for he loves her better than himself) he turns and flees.

Scarcely have his feet gained a safe retreat, when Alric enters the arbor. “It is well,” he mutters as he catches sight of Miriam. “I came none too soon! I felt some poisonous thing was hovering too near my white rose.” He came to her side and made mystic signs, and called her by the name of “Gweneth.” She opened her eyes. “What wouldst thou, master,” she said. “Where art thou?” he asked.

“Here beside thee, master, but oh, so longing for rest. This journey through the flesh has been a bitter one. I have come e’en close to my beloved, and yet another has gained his love. It is hard to serve without reward. I pray you, my master, let me begone!”

With a tenderness drawn from him, against judgment, the man Alric knelt beside her, and kissed her white hand. “Sweet one,” he said, “the journey is nearly over. Would that I might tell thee what thou art become to me. I dare not, lest I lose my power over the thoughts and actions of the many, through the knowledge that you alone can impart. Yes, sweet soul, thy mission is all but ended in Egypt, as is also that of thy brave sister soul. So go forth again Gweneth, and come not as twain to me in any eon of rolling time, but wait, until as one soul, I can meet and claim you, forever and forever. But speak, oh Gweneth, who went from thee?”

“It was the Prince, the King’s brother. Long has he loved Miriam, the Israelite; long has he worshipped her from afar; and to-day he did speak to her of his hopes, when Egypt held out its crown to him.”

“And,” said Alric slowly, “Egypt will soon call him King. But haste to speak to me of other things, dear spirit, for it is thy last service. Reveal to me the close at hand story of Egypt.”

A sigh escaped the white lips ere she said softly: “There will be an exodus of many besides the Israelites. The idiot King, the fair young Prince, Zelas the High Priest, Hatsu and Miriam shall go on, and Alric alone shall be left to abide in the land of his father, lo, these many years. Zelas and Hatsu shall be caught up in a chariot of fire, and the King and the Prince shall die, to ransom Israel, and in that same hour a merciful shaft from heaven shall set Miriam free.” She stretched out her arms and cried: “I pray thee, good master, let me go! for I am weary.”

With a sigh Alric arose. “It will be as thou sayest, sweet one,” he said, “our day is over, and another night of short oblivion draws near, for the many.” Then he made some passes above her, calling: “Wake, Miriam, awake!” The color came stealing back into her cheeks and lips, and she looked up to Alric with a perplexed smile. “I am such a sleepy one,” she said, “and such a dreamer of dreams! Listen, my lord, as I sat me here watching the King and the little Prince at their play, I fell asleep and had such a strange vision. I thought that the King’s brother came to this arbor, and talked to me as would a lover. It was an idle, idle dream.” And then she rose and (as a mother might) drew the head of Alric down to her breast and kissed him.

CHAPTER VI.

And now the prophecy had been fulfilled. The once fair land lay a barren waste. Egypt so long in thralldom to her myriad gods, was helpless, speechless, and prayerless, before the might of the ONE Jehovah. Hope was dead, courage had fled, and naught seemed left but a remnant of stubborn will in which to still cry out: “Israel shall not go.”

The hour had come in which the last curse was to fall. Scarce had the sun gone down when the idiot King gave up the ghost, and through all the realm there arose a wailing cry: “Oh, my first born; oh, my son, my son!”

CHAPTER VII.

In an upper room in the palace lay the little Prince. Through the open casement the moon looked in. Kneeling beside him was Miriam, her face buried in her hands, her body shaken by sobs. The child was speaking. “Dear Miriam,” he said, “do not bid me linger in this parched land. I fain would go to the better country; one I love waits for me there. Didn’t thou not tell me, that when Israel’s great prophet stood to warn Egypt, that he did bless my father, the King, and promise to him a place in the heaven of heavens? Dear Miriam, the King has gone out of Egypt. Hark! how the heralds cry it through the streets! ‘The King is dead,’ they say. ‘Long live the King.’ I cannot linger here, I must go to him. He will lose his way; he could not find the golden gates; he does not know the angels; I led him here, and I must lead him there. Nay, sweet nurse, do not weep! I fain would go! Hark! he calls me. My father have but patience for a little while! I come.” And then the child fell, panting, back among his pillows.

Rising from her knees Miriam stood for one moment looking down upon him, then, all unnoticed, in the wild confusion of grief that was sweeping like a flood through every home in the city, she made her way out of the palace, and the gates, to the plain beyond, where in a rude hut dwelt the prophet Moses and his brother, Aaron, waiting until the time should come for them to guide Israel out of Egypt. With no asking for admittance, Miriam entered the hut, and seeing Aaron within, she hastened to throw herself at his feet. “Oh, my lord,” she cried, “I come to beg of thee, in the name of Jehovah, take all Egypt, but spare the life of Hatsu’s son, the little Prince! No dearer could he be to me, my lord, had I carried him for nine long moons under my heart, no dearer had I known the pangs that bring the joyous gift to motherhood. My lord, take me, an unworthy daughter of Israel, aye, blot out my soul for all eternity, but spare the child!”

Upon her bowed head the prophet laid a gentle hand.

“Miriam, daughter of Abram,” he said, “no more faithful child hath God of Israel than thou. Thy human form has been used, as a shield, by those to whom thou hast given thy pure love; but they have had no power to touch thy white soul. It is not the will of the ‘All-Wise’ that thine eyes should see, on this earth, that which has been hidden from thee. But be comforted, for thy God is a God of Mercy, and so let the child go in peace. The little one that thou hast reared, to say thy prayers, and call upon the Blessed One of Israel, shall see no evil days, aye, ere thy returning feet shall cross the threshold of the city gates the child shall die, and thou shalt quickly follow him.”

With a moan of hopeless agony, Miriam arose. She said no word of parting. She turned and made her way back across the barren moonlit plain. A cloud now covered the moon, and a strange low-voiced wind arose that was like unto a warning cry; but Miriam heeded naught; she hurried on repeating through her white lips: “God is greater than Moses! God is greater than Aaron! God notes the fall of the bird from its nest, and He will hear my prayer! He will hear! Oh, my Father in Heaven, spare the child, spare the child!”

There comes to some, in every age of time, the actual power of reaching the source of light. It is to the mother that this awful privilege is oftenest granted. When in her supreme agony of love she spans all space and reaches the eternal to beg the life of her child.

Suddenly Miriam stood still, her cry ceased and in a quiet voice she spake to the great silence:

“What is it that Thou sayest to my soul? Aye, I know the words, ‘Be strong and of good courage; fear not, for it is the Lord that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee or forsake thee.’ Yea, they are sweet and comforting words! What is Thy name, Thou that art clothed in light?” Then she stretched forth her hands, a smile came to her lips. “Thou art an angel of the Lord,” she cried. “Aye, spirit, I will lean upon thy breast and thou shalt lead me through the gates.”

And the prophet Aaron, watching Miriam from his doorway (for the moon had come out of hiding and again the parched plain was as bright as at midday) lifted up his voice and said: “Keep Thy strong arm about her, oh Merciful One; rest her weary head upon thy loving, tender breast, for Thou, too, in Thy time of earthly sojourn, knew the yearning of the Mother heart. Oh, thou shining one, thou, too, wert once like her, a sorrowing woman, and thy God, and Miriam’s God, hath sent thee to lead her through the gate.”

CHAPTER VIII.

The low muttering had grown to louder tone, the wind came in mad gusts. There were vivid ribbons of fire, and great reverberating crashes of thunder.

Beside the little bed on which lay the dead child knelt Miriam, and at the foot of the couch stood the Queen and Alric. It would have been hard to tell which of the two faces (the man’s or the woman’s) showed the less of fear or sorrow. The ravages of pestilence, famine and fever had left them unmoved and the present visitation of death they were meeting in quiet and silence. The great General had no tears to shed for the dead King, or the dead King’s little son, and the woman warrior stood dry eyed, gazing upon the fast stiffening body of the child.

To Miriam this calmness meant a pent up agony. So, forgetting her own sorrow, she strove to form words of comfort for the Queen; and as she spoke the darkness grew deeper, and the very air became, as it were shut out, so that not in breaths, but in gasps, did the stifling Egyptians strive to fill their lungs. A silence fell, a great hush came, and in its midst a man crawled into the room and stopped at the Queen’s feet, then he gasped out: “Zelas, the great High Priest, bids thee, oh Queen, and thee, my Lord Alric, to hasten to him. He waits, in the secret grotto, under the Sphinx.” As he uttered the last word, he fell dead. It was at this instant that an awful flood of light filled the room. In its glory one saw that Miriam, with an ecstatic smile, arose for an instant, stretched her arms upward, and fell lifeless across the body of the little Prince.

Then the storm burst, and the blessed rain fell, and the curse had been lifted. ***

When the storm was over, Israel went out of Egypt, and Tothmes the Third (a wiser and a better man for this awful visitation) began with speed to renew, rebuild, and re-create Egypt, to a higher place among the nations of the earth.

For centuries it was believed, by the most learned, that on that fateful night, Hatsu, Alric and Zelas were carried by Osirus, into his own kingdom, for no mortal eye ever beheld them more, living or dead; neither did any see them depart. ***

In Syria there dwelt, for many years, a wise man. He came from none knew whither, and as he was great in sorcery, none dared provoke his wrath by questionings. He left naught upon his death, but a scroll on which were written characters so strange that none could find their meaning. So the baffled scholars of each generation bequeathed it to the next and thus the scroll was treasured through much time, until at last, one was born, who said: “I can read what is written therein,” and when he read the wise men of his day laughed him to scorn, and cried out that he was mad. “To think,” they said, “that the world has been treasuring this scroll for centuries, only to be rewarded with what is at best an unfinished and impossible love tale.”

Here is what the scholar found written upon the parchment:

CHAPTER IX.

“The shadows of life are gathering thick and fast, and my long day on earth is drawing to its close, and I fain would write, ere it be too late, that which the world should know from me, when the time is ripe for its revealing.

“On the night of the fulfillment of the last curse, as the Queen and I stood by the bed whereon lay my dead child, and while the all unconscious mother, Miriam, strove to comfort the Queen, Hatsu and I were summoned to attend upon Zelas the High Priest. The place to which he called us was a subterranean grotto, under the great Sphinx, a secret retreat known to but a few in all the kingdom, and where had been long established that which was called, by the initiated, ‘the chamber of perfect peace.’ This place was so hidden away by a labyrinth of stairs and passages that, without the key to its winding ways, he who entered would be hopelessly lost. This ‘chamber of rest’ was hewn out of solid rock, and held two cradles, in which through many generations a chosen number of the greatest and the best had been rocked to a final sleep. It was a mad night. Egypt in all her history had known no such warring of the elements, but the Queen and I, heedless of all else, but the bidding of Zelas, made our way out of the palace, and through the plague-ridden city. None marked us, as we hurried on. Like two children, hand in hand, we walked, a speechless pair, but true companions in adversity, until we came at length, to the appointed place. Then it was that the Princess spoke to me. ‘The storm is fast spending itself,’ she said slowly. ‘On the morrow the sky will be blue again, and the sun will shine. Israel will depart, and Egypt will lift up her bowed head, and Tothmes, my brother, will reign. It is my will that thou, follow me to the end, that, as I close my eyes, in a last sleep, I may see thy face; for, in spite of warrior fame, in spite of prowess in the chase, I carry a woman’s heart, and thou alone have had an altar there! Nay, let me tell thee more, I had rather have lived my lonely empty life, with just the dream of what it could have been, as thine honored wife, than to have been given, any other portion, however blessed.’

“My soul was stirred by this tenderness. ‘Great Queen,’ I made answer, ‘why must we enter here? the night is dark, and in its gloom, we will leave the city; then in some safe retreat, and under names unknown, we will begin a life of happiness that shall be but the foretaste of innumerable re-unitings in the progression from world to world.’ She shook her head sadly, ‘Nay,’ she said, ‘not now, not now, my plane is higher than thine, and I can not stoop to thee, much and fondly though I love thee; when we can meet as soul equals, we shall not part, believe me, and so good-bye, and know in some beyond of time, we shall meet and understand, now come.’

“Guided by the Princess, we wended our way to one of the claws of the great sphinx. There, she knelt down, and said some mystic words. A stone slid noiselessly aside, and we entered the opening and found ourselves in a long corridor. The air was pure and sweet, aye, even fragrant, as though perfumed with growing flowers, lights glimmered along the walls, lights created by a subtle power in nature known only to the most learned. With the ease of one who treads a frequented way, the Queen led me, until we came to a door, that opened as the other had done at her bidding, and we stood inside a brilliantly lighted hall, at whose farther end (and built out into the room,) was that which seemed to be a white tomb, with a grated entrance gate. No one was in sight, and the Queen, bidding me be seated and await her further orders, turned into one of the arched door-ways, and disappeared.

“How long I sat thus in solitude, none can tell; at last through the same portal she came back, and with her my master Zelas; both were in the robes of their office; jewels glittered upon them like hoar frost, and there was that in the set faces, that spoke of the to come. The Queen, said no word; but I felt that her eyes dwelt upon me with a tenderness unspeakable. It was Zelas my master that broke the silence.

“‘Alric, beloved,’ he said, ‘the hour is come, in which we twain must depart. Keep thou a silent tryst, until yon clock shall toll ten times the hour. Then rise, open the wicket gate, and enter without fear to gather that which thou shalt find into the urn I hold; then, with this scroll in thy hand, learn the way to return again, to the world. Day shall scarce have dawned, and the tired nation will be wrapped in a deep sleep; go thou up, and out of Egypt, and with thee, bear the urn and when thou art upon the edge of Mizram’s skirt, scatter the ashes, thou hast by thee, to the four winds of heaven. Alric, beloved, adieu; somewhere, souls meet again, somewhere.’

“He lifted his grand face upward, and his lips moved as if in prayer;—then the twain turned, and entered through the gate. All was silent, and the unseen bell told the hours, until full ten had come and gone; then I rose, and betook me to the iron gate, opened it, and found myself in a low room that held two white cradles. The cradles were empty, but in the hollow stone basin under each, lay small heaps of white ashes. No trace of fire, no melted gold, no dulled gem was there, no sign by which to tell, which had been Queen and which High Priest. I stooped and gathered the dust into the urn, took my scroll, and so departed, and in the early dawn (as Zelas had bade me) I went out of Egypt.

“Years have come and gone since then, so many, that the past of which I write seems like a dream and in my heart, there has come to be a longing, to see once more, the faces of Miriam, and Hatsu, but most of all to hear again, the voice of the little child—Miriam’s child and mine.”

Transcriber’s Note

Archaic and variant spelling is preserved as printed, but variations on spelling within the book have been made consistent. The author’s punctuation is preserved as printed, unless there appeared to be a definite error.

The Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber for the convenience of the reader.

Page 21 refers to “Troth’s kingdom.” This may be an error for “Thoth’s kingdom,” but as there is no way to be sure, it is preserved as printed.

Page 101 has an omitted word following ‘the’—“... and there was that in the set faces, that spoke of the to come.” As there is no way to determine what the missing word may have been, it is preserved as printed.

Errors in quotation marks have been corrected, including omitted commas in speech.

The following amendments have been made:

Page 5—Osiris amended to Osirus—“O, Osirus, I swear to Thee, ...”

Page 8—graneries amended to granaries—... the granaries, the garden produce, ...

Page 14—sandaled amended to sandalled—... her sandalled feet glimmer like frost ...

Page 15—There amended to there—“... oh, Miriam,” she cried, springing to her feet, “there are no Gods! ...”

Page 16—Alrick’s amended to Alric’s—At a certain place by the way, at Alric’s bidding, ...

Page 17—sents amended to sent—... and with closed eyes and folded hands sent prayers ...

Page 21—Troths amended to Troth’s—... would far rather accept an invitation to Troth’s kingdom ...

Page 24—Alrick amended to Alric—Alric now raised his other hand ...

Page 38—alter amended to altar—... and then laying upon the altar, ...

Page 48—superfluous comma deleted following ‘recalling’—... then, as if recalling Miriam for the first time, ...

Page 53—bond-woman amended to bondwoman—... spirit away an Israelitish bondwoman; ...

Page 62—superfluous comma deleted following ‘old’—... holding out to the people her hour old son.

Page 63—Majesties amended to Majesties’—... general in command of Their Majesties’ forces, ...

Page 75—women amended to woman—Was she for all her soldierly bearing a wilful woman?

Page 82—Pharoah amended to Pharaoh—The first born of Pharaoh that sitteth upon the throne ...

Page 96—comma amended to period—“... He waits, in the secret grotto, under the Sphinx.”

Page 98—labarinth amended to labyrinth—... hidden away by a labyrinth of stairs and passages ...


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