Mentu's hands fell down at his sides. The simple questions had silenced him. His son was blameless now that he had expiated his offenses against the law, and from the moral standpoint his persistence in his claim on Rachel was just--praiseworthy. "Nay," he said sullenly, "but since thou didst love the girl, how came it that thou didst not wed her long ago and save her this shame and danger?" He saw the face of his son grow paler. "The bar of faith lay between us," Kenkenes answered. "I was an idolater, she a worshiper of the One God. She would not wed with me, therefore." The murket looked at his son, stupefied with amazement. "Thou--thou--" he said at last, his words coming slowly by reason of his emotions. "The Israelite rejected thee!" Kenkenes bent his head in assent. "Thou! A prince among men--a nobleman, a genius--a man whom all women--Kenkenes! by Horus, I am amazed! And thou didst endure it, and continue to love and serve and suffer for her! Where is thy pride?" Kenkenes stopped him with a motion of his hand. "A maid's unwillingness is obstacle enough," he said. "Shall a man summon further difficulty in the form of his self-esteem to stand in the way of his love? Nay, it could not be, and that thou knowest, my father, since thou, too, hast loved. When a man is in love it is his pride to be long-suffering and humble. But there is naught separating us now save it be the hand of Har-hat." "So much for Israelitish zeal! Thou hast been a pawn for her to play during these months. Long ago had she surrendered if thou hadst been--" Kenkenes smiled. "She did not surrender. It was I." "Thy faith?" the murket asked in a voice low with earnestness. "Thou hast said!" A dead silence ensued. Kenkenes may have awaited the outbreak with a quickening of the heart, but it did not come. Instead, the murket sat down on the bench and gazed at his son intently. After a long interval he spoke. "Thus far had I hoped that thou wast taken by the Israelite but in thy fancy. The hope was vain. Thou art in love with her." Kenkenes endured the steady gaze and waited for Mentu to go on. "There is no help for thee now," the murket continued stoically. "If the gods will but tolerate thee till the madness leaves thee after thou art wedded and satisfied, it may be that thou wilt turn again to the faith of thy fathers. But if I would fix thee in thine apostasy I should try to persuade thee now." "Aye, and further, I should be moved to urge thee into heresy," calmly responded Kenkenes. The murket flung up one hand in a gesture of dissent, and arising, walked toward the door of the workroom. There he leaned his shoulder against the frame and looked out at the night. Presently Kenkenes went to him and laid his hand on his sleeve. The murket spoke first, proving what thoughts had been his during the little space of silence.