ithout doubt you are to be given to this brave soldier, being already
his."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then, Daughter of Nathan, it is my part to curse you in the name of
God, and to declare you cut off and outcast from the people of God. It
is my part to announce to you further that your life is forfeit, and
that any Hebrew may kill you when and how he can, and take no blame."

Merapi paled a little, then turning to Jabez, asked:

"You have heard, my uncle. What say you?"

Jabez looked round shiftily, and said in his unctuous voice:

"My niece, surely you must obey the commands of the Elders of Israel who
speak the will of Heaven, as you obeyed them when you matched yourself
against the might of Amon."

"You gave me a different counsel yesterday, my uncle. Then you said I
had better bide where I was."

The messenger turned and glared at him.

"There is a great difference between yesterday and to-day," went on
Jabez hurriedly. "Yesterday you were protected by one who would soon
be Pharaoh, and might have been able to move his mind in favour of your
folk. To-day his greatness is stripped from him, and his will has no
more weight in Egypt. A dead lion is not to be feared, my niece."

Seti smiled at this insult, but Merapi's face, like my own, grew red, as
though with anger.

"Sleeping lions have been taken for dead ere now, my uncle, as those who
would spurn them have discovered to their cost. Prince Seti, have you no
word to help me in this strait?"

"What is the strait, Lady? If you wish to go to your people and--to
Laban, who, I understand, is recovered from his hurts, there is naught
between you and me save my gratitude to you which gives me the right to
say you shall not go. If, however, you wish to stay, then perhaps I am
still not so powerless to shield or smite as this worthy Jabez thinks,
who still remain the greatest lord in Egypt and one with those that love
him. Therefore should you desire to remain, I think that you may do so
unmolested of any, and least of all by that friend in whose shadow it
pleases you to sojourn."

"Those are very gentle words," murmured Merapi, "words that few would
speak to a maid from whom naught is asked and who has naught to give."

"A truce to this talk," snarled the messenger. "Do you obey or do you
rebel? Your answer."

She turned and looked him full in the face, saying:

"I do not return to Goshen and to Laban, of whose sword I have seen
enough."

"Mayhap you wi