"Thou art safe and sheltered," she heard. "No evil shall befall thee."
Was this the spirit of the tomb? If so, it was most lovely and kindly. But a solemn voice issued out of the dark cell beyond. This was the spirit, of a surety. She cowered against her fair-haired protector and shuddered. But the maiden answered the voice in a strange tongue. Masanath would have known it to be Hebrew, had she been composed. But now it was mystic, cabalistic.
Presently the maiden addressed her.
"Deborah asks after thee, Lady. How shall I tell her thou findest thyself?"
"Oh, I can not tell," Masanath answered. "What has happened? Is it true or did I go mad?"
The Israelite smoothed her hair. "It is a plague," she said.
"Then the hand of Amenti is on us," the Egyptian shuddered. "Whither shall we flee?"
"Ye can not flee from the One God," the voice from the crypt said grimly.
"Nay, but what have I done to vex the gods?" Masanath insisted. "O let me go hence. Where are my servants?"
"It is better for thee to bide here," the voice went on relentlessly. "For outside the sheltering neighborhood of the chosen people, the hand of the outraged God shall overtake Egypt and scorch her throat with thirst and make her veins congeal for want of water."