"Tell him where Kenkenes went!"
The Egyptian leaned over the parapet. "Fie! he is gone!" she said. "Nay, but I shall catch him;" and flying down through the house, out into the narrow passage, she overtook the murket.
This is what she told Rachel when she returned:
"I said to him: 'My Lord, I know where Kenkenes went.' And he said: 'Of a truth?' in the calmest way. 'Aye,' said I. 'It hath come to mine ears that he went to Tape,' 'That have I known for long,' he answered, after he had looked at me till I wished I were away. 'That have I known for long, and why he went and why he came not back,' and having said, he smoothed my hair and told me I was not much like my father, and departed without another word. To my mind he hath conducted himself most strangely. I doubt not he knows more than you or I, Rachel."
To Masanath's dismay the Israelite flung herself face down on the rugs and wept. "He is not dead; he is not dead," she cried.
The collapse of a composure so strong and bridled filled Masanath with consternation. Had Rachel's spirit been of weaker fiber the Egyptian's own forceful individuality would have longed to sustain it, but when it broke in its strength she knew that here was a stress of emotion too deep for her to soothe.
"Then if he is not dead," she said, searching for something to say, "why weepest thou?"
"Alas! seest thou not, Masanath? He hath not returned to me; his father knows his story, and if he be not dead how shall I explain his absence save that he hath forgotten or repented?"
"Not so!" Masanath declared. "He is the soul of honor, and there is a mystery in this that the gods may explain in time. Comfort thee, Rachel, for there stirreth a hope in me." Then with the utmost tact she told the story of the finding of Kenkenes' boat and the theory accepted in Memphis.
"I can offer thee hope," she concluded, "but I can not even guess what should keep him so long. Of this be assured, however, he did not desert thee, Rachel."