"I am from Tyre," I answered. "You are a Hebrew?"
"Yes," was his reply, casting down his eyes and moving past me towards the temple.
"Stay one moment," I said. He turned and regarded me with a look of surprise; just such an one as the Hebrew woman Miriam,—to whom also, dear mother, he bore a very striking resemblance,—gave me when I irresistibly addressed her, in the courteous tone I would have used towards any of her sex: such was my tone in speaking to this Hebrew; for although his dress showed that he was only a neophyte, or attendant with secular duties, yet the man himself commanded my respect.
"May I inquire, without offence, why I see a Hebrew in the service of religion?"
"When we are only degraded slaves, and brick and clay workers, and worship not the gods of Egypt?" he answered interrogatively; and I imagined I detected a haughty light in his eyes, and a movement of his lip, caused by a keen sense of the degradation of which he spake.
"You have expressed my motives," I replied. "If you are proceeding along the avenue of sphinxes, I will accompany you, as I am merely loitering."
"Will you be seen walking with a Hebrew, my lord prince?" he said, significantly.
"You know my rank, then?"
"Your language betrays you; merchants do not speak as you do. Besides, the signet of Prince Remeses, on your hand, designates your rank. I have, moreover, heard you described by one, who will never forget that the first words of kindness he ever received, save from his kinsfolk, fell upon his ears from your lips, O Prince of Tyre!"
"Who is he?" I asked with interest.