“Prince,” he said, “I know and grieve because this loss has cut you to the heart. Yet it was no fault of mine or of my people. If you think, you will remember that both when I built a wall of protection about this place because of your good deeds to Israel, O Prince, and before, I warned, and caused you to be warned, that if you and my niece, Moon of Israel, came together a great trouble might fall on you through her who, having become the woman of an Egyptian in defiance of command, must bear the fate of Egyptian women.” “It may be so,” said the Prince. “The matter is not one of which I care to talk. If this death were wrought by the magic of your wizards I have only this to say—that it is an ill payment to me in return for all that I have striven to do on behalf of the Hebrews. Yet, what else could I expect from such a people in such a world? Farewell.” “One prayer, O Prince. I would ask your leave to speak with my niece, Merapi.” “She is veiled. Since the murder of her child by wizardry, she sees no man.” “Still I think she will see her uncle, O Prince.” “What then do you wish to say to her?” “O Prince, through the clemency of Pharaoh we poor slaves are about to leave the land of Egypt never to return. Therefore, if my niece remains behind, it is natural that I should wish to bid her farewell, and to confide to her certain matters connected with our race and family, which she might desire to pass on to her children.” Now when he heard this word “children” Seti softened. “I do not trust you,” he said. “You may be charged with more of your Hebrew curses against Merapi, or you may say words to her that will make her even unhappier than she is. Yet if you would wish to see her in my presence——” “My lord Prince, I will not trouble you so far. Farewell. Be pleased to convey——” “Or if that does not suit you,” interrupted Seti, “in the presence of Ana here you can do so, unless she refuses to receive you.” Jabez reflected for a moment, and answered: “Then in the presence of Ana let it be, since he is a man who knows when to be silent.” Jabez made obeisance and departed, and at a sign from the Prince I followed him. Presently we were ushered into the chamber of the lady Merapi, where she sat looking most sad and lonely, with a veil of black upon her head. “Greeting, my uncle,” she said, after glancing at me, whose presence I think she understood. “Are you the bearer of more prophecies? I pray not, since your last were overtrue,” and she touched the black veil with her finger. “I am the bearer of tidings, and of a prayer, Niece. The tidings are that the people of Israel are about to leave Egypt. The prayer, which is also a command, is—that you make ready to accompany them——” “To Laban?” she asked, looking up. “No, my niece. Laban would not wish as a wife one who has been the mistress of an Egyptian, but to play your part, however humble, in the fortunes of our people.”