"
"Knowest thou not that every first-born in Egypt died last night at the
Hebrew's sending?" the sorcerer demanded.
"The first-born of Egypt," Kenkenes repeated slowly. "At the Hebrew's
sending?"
"Aye, by the sorcery of Mesu. Save for the eldest of Israel, there is
no living first-born in Egypt to-day. From that most imperial Prince
Rameses to the firstling of the cowherd, they are dead!"
The young man heard him first with a chill of horror, half-unbelieving,
barely comprehending. He was not of Israel and yet he had been spared.
Then he remembered the dread presence above him in the night,--the
chill from its noiseless wing. A light, instant and brilliant as a
revelation, broke over him. Unconsciously, he raised his eyes and
clasped his hands against his breast. He knew that his God had
acknowledged him.
When his thoughts returned to earth, he found the glittering eyes of
the sorcerer fixed upon him.
"Seeing that thou dost live, tell me what sheltered thee in this
harvest of death?" Jambres repeated.
"The Lord God of Israel, who reaped it."
The answer was direct and fearless. To the astonished priest who heard
it, it seemed triumphant.
Each of the many emotions the sorcerer experienced, displayed itself,
in turn, on his face,--amazement, anger, censure, irresolution,
distrust.
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