"As the Nile flows, so hath the blood of Israel been wasted by the hand
of Egypt. Now shall the God of Abraham drain her veins, even so, drop
for drop. For the despoiling of Israel shall her pastures and stables
be filled with stricken beasts--for the heavy hand of the Pharaohs
shall the heavens thunder and scourges fall. And the wrath of God
shall cool not till Egypt is a waste, shorn of her corn and her
vineyards and her riches, and foul with dead men."
Nothing could have been more vindictive than this disembodied voice.
Masanath thrust her fingers through her hair, and drawing her elbows
forward, sheltered her face with them.
"When have I offended against the Hebrew?" she cried, sick with terror.
"Why should your awful God destroy the innocent and the friend of
Israel among the people of Egypt?"
Rachel, who had stood beside her, with an increasing cloud on her face,
now spoke in Hebrew. There was mild protest in her tones.
"The plague will pass," the voice from the inner crypt continued.
"Seven days will it endure, no more."
"Deborah is mystic," Rachel added softly, "and is gifted with prophetic
eyes. Much hath she suffered at Egypt's hands, and her tongue grows
harsh when she speaks of the oppression.
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