"There are ten rings," he continued. "Let them be named thus," telling them off with his fingers, "This first of all—Hope—it shall be thy stay; this—Faith—it shall comfort thee; this—Good Works—it shall publish thee; this—Sacrifice—it shall win thee many victories; this—Chastity—it shall be thy name; the next—Wisdom—it shall guide thee; after it—Steadfastness—it shall keep thee in all these things; Truth—it shall brood upon thy lips; Beauty—it shall not perish; this, the last, is Love, of which there is naught to be said. It speaketh for itself."
Their eyes met at his last words and for a moment dwelt. Then Rachel looked away.
"Are the fastenings secure?" she asked.
"Firm as the virtues in a good woman's soul."
"They will hold. I would not lose one of them."
A long silence fell. The curious activity of desert-life, interrupted for the time by the presence of the fugitives, resumed its tenor and droned on about them. The rasping grasshopper, the darting lizard, the scorpion creeping among the rocks, a high-flying bird, a small, skulking, wild beast put sound and movement in the desolation of the region. The horizon was marked by undulating hills to the west; to the east, by sharper peaks. The scant growth was blackened or partly covered with sand, and it fringed the distant uplands like a stubbly beard. The little ravines were darkened with hot shadows, but the bald slopes presented areas, shining with infinitesimal particles of quartz and mica, to a savage sun and an almost unendurable sky. From somewhere to the barren north the wind came like a breath of flame, ash-laden and drying. There was nothing of the cool, damp river breeze in this. They were in the hideous heart of the desert to whom death was monotony, resisting foreign life, an insult.
The two in the shortening shadow of the great rock were glad of the water-bottle. The necessity of comfortable shelter for Rachel began to appeal urgently to Kenkenes. He put aside his dreams and thought aloud.
"What cover may I offer thy dear head this night?" he began. "We may not return to the camp, for there of a surety they lie in wait for us. Toora is deserted and so tempting a spot for fugitives that it will be searched immediately. Not a hovel this side of the Nile but will be visited. I would take thee to my father—"
"Nay," she said firmly. "I will take affliction to none other. Already have I undone two of the best of Egypt. I will carry the distress no further."
After a silence he began again.