sed. After them
came a gilded chariot with a sumptuous Egyptian within. By the
annulets over his temples and the fringed ribbons pendent therefrom,
the Israelite knew him to be royal.

Behind, a second chariot was driven by a single occupant, who wore the
badges of princehood also.

The third was a chariot of ebony drawn by two prancing coal-black
horses whose leathers and housings shone and jingled. Rachel's eyes
met those of the driver and the life-current froze in her veins.
Har-hat, fan-bearer to the Pharaoh, late governor of Bubastis, drew up
his horses and calmly surveyed her. The action halted the chariots of
a dozen courtiers following him. One by one they came to a stand-still
and each man peered around his predecessor until the fan-bearer became
conscious of the pawing horses behind him. He drove out of line and
alighted. With an apologetic wave of his hand, he motioned the
procession to proceed and busied himself with the harness as if he had
found a breakage. Those that had passed were by this time some
distance ahead and, missing the grind of wheels in their wake, looked
back. The fan-bearer beckoned to one of the attendants who had gone
before, and the man returned.

Meanwhile the procession moved on and the nobles glanced first at the
fan-bearer, and next, at the Israelite. But Athor in the niche on the
hillside was not more white and stony than its living model in the
valley. There was no retreat. The fan-bearer stood between her and
the Nile, his servant between her and the quarries. She felt the
sickening numbness that stupefies one who realizes a terrible strait,
from which there is neither succor nor escape.

The procession passed and the servant, halting, bowed to his master.
He was short and fat, thick of neck and long of arm--a most unusual
Egyptian. Har-hat tossed him the reins and, walking around his horses,
approached Rachel. The smallest Hebrew--too small to be awed and yet
old enough to realize that the beloved Rachel was in danger, dropped
the hide he bore, and flinging himself before her, clasped her with his
arms, and turned a defiant face at Har-hat over his shoulder. The
fan-bearer paused.

"It is the very same," he said laughingly. "The hard life of the
quarries hath not robbed thee in the least of thy radiance. But by the
gambling god, Toth, thou didst take a risk! Dost dream what thou didst
miss through a malevolent caprice of the Hathors? Five months ago I