There was something mocking in her perfunctory deference, but her pride
was genuine. Her conduct seemed to say: "I would liefer be a Hebrew
and a slave than a princess of the God-forgotten realm of Egypt."
The young sculptor was unruffled, however. He was turning over in his
mind, with interest, the evidence that tended to show that the
Israelite had something more to tell him, that her courage had failed
her, and that her hand had sought something concealed in her dress. He
recalled the former meetings with her and arrived at a surmise so
sudden and so conclusive that with difficulty he kept himself from
making outward demonstration of his conviction. "The collar, by Apis!
I offended her with the trinket. And she came to make me take it back,
but her courage fled. Pie upon my clumsy gallantries! I must make
amends. I would not have her hate me."
He broke the silence with an old, old remark--one that Adam might have
made to Eve.
"Look at the stars, Rachel. There is a dark casement in the heavens--a
blink of the eye and the lamp is alight."
"So I watch them every night. But they are swifter here in Memphis.
At Mendes, where Israel toiled once, they are more deliberate," she
answered readily.
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