She wore
an ample robe of white linen, with blue selvages heavily fringed.
About her neck was the collar of gold. The costume was distinctly
Israelitish, elaborated somewhat at the suggestion of Masanath, to whom
Rachel's golden beauty was a never-lessening wonder. Compared to the
tiny gorgeous lady, Rachel was as a tall lily to a mimosa.
Masanath was comfortably pillowed on cushions, close to the Israelite.
The rose-leaf flush on her little face was subdued and her dark eyes
were larger than usual. The physical discomforts of the plagues had
overtaken her; and Rachel, the only one of all the household who had
passed unscathed through the troublous time, had been so tender a nurse
that Masanath recovered with reluctance.
This was the Egyptian's first day on the housetop, and she was not
happy. The great pots of glazed earthenware, each a small garden in
size, were filled with baked earth. The locusts had taken her flowers.
In the park below the grass was gone and the palm trees were
shadowless. Her chariot horses had died in the stables; her pets had
drooped and perished; her birds were missing one morning, and Rachel
said they had flown to Goshen, where there were grain and grasses.
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