"Was it Thou who conversed with me a year ago in the garden? That was immediately after the maneuvers."
"That same day, when Thou hadst compassion on the man who hanged himself through despair because his canal was destroyed," answered the priest.
"Thou didst save my house and the Jewess Sarah from the rabble who wished to stone her."
"I did," said Pentuer. "And soon after Thou didst free the innocent laborers from prison, and didst not permit Dagon to torture thy people with new tribute."
"For this people," continued the priest in a louder voice, "for the compassion which Thou hast always shown them I bless thee again today. Perhaps Thou art the only one who will be saved here, but remember that the oppressed people of Egypt will save thee, they who look to thee for redemption."
Hereupon it grew dark; from the south came a shower of hot sand, and such a mighty wind rose that it threw down a horse that was standing in the open. The Asiatics and the Libyan prisoners all woke, but each man merely pressed up to the cliff more closely, and possessed by great fear remained silent.
In nature something dreadful was happening. Night covered the earth, and through the sky black or ruddy clouds of sand rushed with mad impetus. It seemed as though all the sand of the desert, now alive, had sprung up and was flying to some place with the speed of a stone whirled from the sling of a warrior.
The heat was like that in a bath: on the hands and feet the skin burst, the tongue dried, breath produced a pricking in the breast. The fine grains of sand burnt like fire sparks.
Pentuer forced the bottle to the prince's lips. Ramses drank a couple of drops and felt a marvelous change: the pain and heat ceased to torment him; his thought regained freedom.
"And this may last a couple of days?" asked he.