For the first time in the history of their acquaintance she laughed, not mirthfully, but low and very happily, and the fleeting glimpse she gave him of her eyes showed them radiant and glad. He caught her hands, the bundle of herbs fell, and drawing her near him, he lifted the pink palms to his lips and pressed them there.
"Nay," she said, recovering herself and withdrawing her hands, "I am not an Egyptian but a Hebrew, unbiased by the prejudices of thy nation. It is not strange that I can understand thy rebellion, which is but a rift in thine Egyptian make-up through which reason shows. Any alien could comfort thee as well."
"And thou hast no more sympathy for me than any alien would have?" he asked, somewhat piqued.
"Is there any other sympathizing alien with whom I may compare and learn?" she asked with a smile.
She took up her bundle of herbs again and seemed to be preparing to leave him.
"How dost thou know these things," he asked hurriedly; "all these things—sculpture, religion, history?"
"I was not born a slave," she answered simply.
"Nay, cast out that word. I would never hear thee speak it, Rachel."
"Then, I was born out of servitude. My great grandsire was exempted by Seti when Israel went into bondage. His children and all his house were given to profit by the covenant. But the name grew wealthy and powerful to the third generation. My father was Maai the Compassionate, who loved his brethren better than himself. Them he helped. Rameses the Great forgot his father's promise when he found he had need of my father's treasure—" she paused and continued as if the recital hurt her. "There were ten—four of my mother's house, six of my father's. To the mines and the brick-fields they were sent, and in a little space I was all that was left."
Horrified and conscience-stricken, Kenkenes made as if to speak, but she went on hurriedly.