"What?" asked Masanath, turning about.
"Tell him where Kenkenes went!"
The Egyptian leaned over the parapet. "Fie! he is gone!" she said.
"Nay, but I shall catch him;" and flying down through the house, out
into the narrow passage, she overtook the murket.
This is what she told Rachel when she returned:
"I said to him: 'My Lord, I know where Kenkenes went.' And he said:
'Of a truth?' in the calmest way. 'Aye,' said I. 'It hath come to
mine ears that he went to Tape,' 'That have I known for long,' he
answered, after he had looked at me till I wished I were away. 'That
have I known for long, and why he went and why he came not back,' and
having said, he smoothed my hair and told me I was not much like my
father, and departed without another word. To my mind he hath
conducted himself most strangely. I doubt not he knows more than you
or I, Rachel."
To Masanath's dismay the Israelite flung herself face down on the rugs
and wept. "He is not dead; he is not dead," she cried.
The collapse of a composure so strong and bridled filled Masanath with
consternation. Had Rachel's spirit been of weaker fiber the Egyptian's
own forceful individuality would have longed to sustain it, but when it
broke in its strength she knew that here was a stress of emotion too
deep for her to soothe.
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