Masanath gained her feet, crying out wildly:
"My servants! Where are they? Let me forth."
The Israelite put an assuring arm about her. "Thou wilt not dare to face the Nile again," she warned. "Stay with us."
"To starve! To perish of thirst! To die of pestilence! The gods have left us. We are undone!"
"Aye, the gods have left you," the voice continued harshly. "Ye are given over to the vengeance of the God of Abraham. Howl, Egypt! Rend thyself and cover thy head with ashes. Thy destruction is but begun. For a hundred years thou hast oppressed Israel. Now is the hour of the children of God!"
Masanath wrung her hands, but the voice went on.
"As the Nile flows, so hath the blood of Israel been wasted by the hand of Egypt. Now shall the God of Abraham drain her veins, even so, drop for drop. For the despoiling of Israel shall her pastures and stables be filled with stricken beasts—for the heavy hand of the Pharaohs shall the heavens thunder and scourges fall. And the wrath of God shall cool not till Egypt is a waste, shorn of her corn and her vineyards and her riches, and foul with dead men."
Nothing could have been more vindictive than this disembodied voice. Masanath thrust her fingers through her hair, and drawing her elbows forward, sheltered her face with them.
"When have I offended against the Hebrew?" she cried, sick with terror.
"Why should your awful God destroy the innocent and the friend of
Israel among the people of Egypt?"
Rachel, who had stood beside her, with an increasing cloud on her face, now spoke in Hebrew. There was mild protest in her tones.