Assured that no calamity had
occurred, Kenkenes went on.
In a few steps he met the children water-bearers flying to the scene of
the accident. Not one of them bore a water-skin. The excited young
Hebrews did not stop to question the sculptor, but ran on, and were
swallowed up in dust.
Half-way to the Nile he came upon her whom he sought. She was standing
alone in the midst of ten sheepskins, and the grain was wetted with the
spilled water. He pointed to the discarded hides about her.
"The camp will go thirsty if the runaways do not return," he said.
"Thy burden is too heavy for even me to-night."
"They will return," she answered.
"Aye, it was naught but a parting cable and a falling rock. I was near
and saw no evidence of disaster. Had the children asked me, I should
have told them as much."
"They will return," she repeated, and Kenkenes fancied that there was a
dismissal in this quiet repetition. But he did not mean to see it. He
went on, with a smile.
"I am glad they did not stop, for I wanted to see thee, with that
frightened longing of a man who hath resolved on confession and meeteth
his confessor on a sudden. Now that the moment hath arrived I marvel
how I shall make my peace with Athor, whose command I most deliberately
broke.
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