By the time all preparations were complete the night had come.
He bade Deborah farewell and took Rachel's hand. It was cold and
trembled pitifully. Without a word he pressed it and gave it back. He
had reached the entrance, when it seemed that a suppressed sound smote
on his ears, and he stopped. Deborah, her face grown stern and hard,
had moved a step or two forward and stood regarding Rachel sharply.
Neither saw her.
"Did you speak, Rachel?" Kenkenes asked. He fancied that her arms had
fallen quickly as he turned.
"Nay, except to bid thee take care of thyself, Kenkenes," she faltered,
"more for thine own sake than for mine."
He returned and, on his knee, pressed her hand to his lips.
"God's face light thee and His peace attend thee," she continued. The
blessing was full of wondrous tenderness and music. He knew how her
face looked above him; how the free hand all but rested on his head,
and for a moment his fortitude seemed about to desert him. But she
whispered:
"Farewell."
And he arose and went forth.
[1] The tombs of the Orient in ancient times were common places of
refuge for fugitives, lepers and outcasts.
CHAPTER XXI
ON THE WAY TO THEBES
The moon was ampler and its light stronger.
Pages:
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343