had thrust aside.

Her father had also sided with him, and for the first time ceased to
reproach him with his origin.

But, on the third day after Hosea's return, Hornecht had gone to talk
with him and since then everything had changed for the worse. He must be
best aware what had caused the man of whom she, his daughter, must think
no evil, to be changed from a friend to a mortal foe.

She had looked enquiringly at him as she spoke, and he did not refuse to
answer--Hornecht had told him that he would be a welcome son-in-law.

"And you?" asked Kasana, gazing anxiously into his face.

"I," replied the prisoner, "was forced to say that though you had been
dear and precious to me from your childhood, many causes forbade me to
unite a woman's fate to mine."

Kasana's eyes flashed, and she exclaimed:

"Because you love another, a woman of your own people, the one who sent
Ephraim to you!"

But Joshua shook his head and answered pleasantly:

"You are wrong, Kasana! She of whom you speak is the wife of another."

"Then," cried the young widow with fresh animation, gazing at him with
loving entreaty, "why were you compelled to rebuff my father so harshly?"

"That was far from my intention, dear child," he replied warmly, laying
his hand on her head. "I thought of you with all the tenderness of which
my nature is capable. If I could not fulfil his wish, it was because
grave necessity forbids me to yearn for the peaceful happiness by my own
hearth-stone for which others strive. Had they given me my liberty, my
life would have been one of restlessness and conflict."

"Yet how many bear sword and shield," replied Kasana, "and still, on
their return, rejoice in the love of their wives and the dear ones
sheltered beneath their roof."

"True, true," he answered gravely; "but special duties, unknown to the
Egyptians, summon me. I am a son of my people."

"And you intend to serve them?" asked Kasana. "Oh, I understand you.
Yet. . . . why then did you return to Tanis? Why did you put yourself into
Pharaoh's power?"

"Because a sacred oath compelled me, poor child," he answered kindly.

"An oath," she cried, "which places death and imprisonment between you
and those whom you love and still desire to serve. Oh, would that you had
never returned to this abode of injustice, treachery, and ingratitude! To
how many hearts this vow will bring grief and tears! But what do you men
care for the suffering you inflict on others?