Masanath looked at her while she thought busily. "If I tell it, I break a heart. But if they bide here, they die. None other will come to them by chance or on purpose."
"I would not risk it," she answered. Returning to the pallet of matting she finished her breakfast in silence. After a little sigh she glanced at the wine in one of the small amphoras which Rachel had brought to her as a drinking-cup. "Mayhap the plague is past," she said, hinting, "and I am athirst."
Rachel took up another jar and went forth. The hairy creature in the corner, tethered to the amphora rack, slipped his collar and followed her.
As soon as the Israelite was gone, Masanath went into the inner chamber. Standing by the old woman, who lay upon a mattress, set on the top of the sarcophagus, she said hurriedly:
"Ye may not remain here. Kenkenes is known to me and he will not return."
"Thou dost not tell me he was false to us," Deborah exclaimed. "Nay, I will not believe it," she declared.
"Nay, he was the soul of honor, but he is dead."
"Dead!" the old woman cried, catching at her dress.
"Hush! Tell her not!"
"Aye, thou art right. Tell her not! But—but how did he die?"