appeared above the rim of the curious carriage. Her face brightened slowly from the look of fear into a smile of gratitude and pleasure; then a pair of white arms were pushed out from the wide sleeves of a linen tunic and were twined about Rachor's neck with a hearty embrace, and the small cherry lips sought Rachor's shaggy cheek. "Thank you, thank you, Father Rachor," the child stammered; "I would at all events rather go into Egypt and join the priests than fall into the hands of the godless Midianites."
The child's caress and speech produced a complete fascination on the gray-headed chief; a fascination such as plainly lacked the touch of familiarity of parental affection, just as the child's reverent address of "Father" Rachor lacked the intimacy of filial trust, but rather bore the distinct odor of reserve; but a fascination that visibly tended towards ecstasy. "Father" Rachor was surely not the father of this child, and this child appealed to a higher sense of love in him than is animated by the sacred instinct of earthly parenthood.
When the girl lightly expressed her preference, or, rather, resignation, of joining the priests, Rachor vainly struggled to suppress a smile of diffidence. His eyes ran up and down the lithe little figure in his hands with mute, and yet not doubtful admiration. He must have knowledge of the destiny of the child from some certain, unquestionable source, of which he might know the existence without being sure of its nature; as one may admire the sparkling fire of the diamond without understanding its cause.
Rachor eyed the girl with wrapt attention. Her delicate face was yet wearing the slight frown of her protest against company with the wicked Midianites;
