His draperies were loose, voluminous, heavily
fringed, and of such silky texture of linen that they flowed in the
light wind. His head was covered with a wide kerchief, which was bound
with a cord, and hid the forehead.
He was of good stature and upright, but his drapings were so ample that
the structure of his frame was not discernible. His eyes were black,
bright and young in their alertness, but the beard that rippled over
his breast to his girdle was as white as the foam of the Middle Sea.
The Hebrew walked in the grass by the roadside and came on, his face
expectant. At sight of the prince he stepped into the roadway. Seti
drew up.
"Thou art Seti-Meneptah?" the ancient wayfarer asked.
"Even so," the prince answered.
The Hebrew put back his kerchief and stood uncovered.
"Dost thou know me, my son?" he asked.
"Thou art that Aaron, of the able tongue, brother to Mesu. Camest thou
forth to meet me?"
The Hebrew readjusted the kerchief.
"Thou hast said."
"Wast thou, then, so impatient? Where is thy brother?"
"Nay. The village of image-makers is not safe. Moses hath departed
for Zoan." [1]
"And named thee in his stead. But his mission to my father's capital
bodes no good.
Pages:
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572