"Thou didst drop this outside the camp," she said as she came near. "I
feared it might have somewhat pertaining to the statue on it, and I
have brought it, with the permission of the taskmaster." She stopped,
and putting her hand into the folds of her habit on her breast,
hesitated as if for words to speak further. Kenkenes interrupted her
with his thanks.
"How thou hast fatigued thyself for me, Rachel! Out of all Egypt I
doubt if I might find another so constant guardian of my welfare. The
grace of the gods attend thee as faithfully. I thank thee, most
gratefully."
The purpose in her face dissolved, the hand that seemed to hold
somewhat in the folds of her habit relaxed and fell slowly. While
Kenkenes waited for her to speak, he noted that a dress of unbleached
linen replaced the coarse cotton surplice she had worn before, and her
feet were shod with simple sandals--an extravagance among slaves. But
the garb was yet too mean. The sculptor wondered at that moment how
the sumptuous attire of the high-born Memphian women would become her.
He shook his head and in his imagination dressed her in snow-white
robes with but the collar of rings about her throat, and stood back to
marvel at his picture of splendid simplicity.
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