Sister: Mother, this way! The wicked soldiers will not find him here.
(The Mother enters bearing the Baby.)
Mother: Is there no one in sight? (She looks anxiously about.)
Sister: No one!
Mother (embracing the child): O my son, the cruel Pharaoh would slay thee, but the Lord is gracious; he will save.
Sister: Here is the ark of bulrushes; I have daubed it well with pitch. Shall I lay it among the flags at the river's brink?
(The Mother nods. The Sister arranges the coverings in the basket. The Mother hugs the child.)
Mother: O my baby! (She places child in basket.)
Sister (peering into distance): Mother, sh-h-h! I see the daughter of Pharaoh in the distance; she cometh to bathe in the river. Oh—if she should discover us!
Mother (looking up anxiously): God's will be done!