ited, rose upon the
air.

The Egyptian army was in pursuit!

Israel heard it, and crying aloud in its terror, swept forward, as if
the trumpet-call had commanded it. Kenkenes felt a quickening of
pulse, a momentary tremor, but no more.

He became conscious finally of a warmth penetrating his sandals. He
knew that he had been struggling up a slope for a long time, and now he
realized that he was again on the dry, sun-heated sand of the desert.
The multitude ceased to crowd, the pressure about him diminished; the
ranks began to widen to his left and right; the leaders halted
altogether, and though there was still much movement among the body and
rear of the host, people turned to look upon their neighbors.

The overhanging cloud parted from the eastern horizon, leaving a strip
of sky softly lighted by the coming morn. Without any preliminary
diminution of its force, the wind failed entirely.

Kenkenes, with many others, looked back and saw that the pillar,
illuminated, but no longer illuminating, had halted above a solitary
figure of seemingly super-human stature in the morning gray, standing
on an eminence, overlooking the sea.

The arm was uplifted and outstretched, tense and motionless.

From his superior height, Kenkenes saw, over the heads of the immense
concourse, two lines of foam riding like the wind across the sea-bed
toward each other. Between them was a great body of plunging horses;
overhead a forest of fluttering banners; and faint from the commotion
came shouts and wild notes of trumpets. Then the two lines of foam
smote against each other with a fearful rush and a muffled report like
the cannonading of surf. A mountain of water pitched high into the air
and collapsed in a vast froth, which spread abroad over the churning,
wallowing sea. The falling wind dashed a sheet of spray over the
silent host on the eastern shore. Sharp against the white foam, dark
objects and masses sank, arose, and sank again.

At that moment the sun thrust a broad shaft of light between the
horizon and the lifted cloud.

It discovered only the sea, raving and stormy, and afar to the west a
misty, vacant, lifeless line of shore.

"And the waters returned and covered the chariots and the horsemen, and
all the host of the Pharaoh that came into the sea after them; there
remained not so much as one of them."

So perished Har-hat and the flower of the Egyptian army.

CHAPTER XLVI

WHOM THE LADY MIRIAM SENT