“I also thank Heaven and my foster-father,” returned Aleph warmly, as he returned the embrace; and then, turning toward Rachel with eyes that even in the dim light throbbed into hers thankfulness, and much besides that made her face burn and her heart sing, he added, “And there is another who will not be forgotten, even the angel whom God has sent to shut the lions’ mouths so that they have not hurt me. I knew your voice, and even your hand, as well as your chant, as you came.”
“We must hasten,” interrupted the priest. “We are not yet quite out of the lions’ den.”
Aleph at once went into the dungeon and brought out his staff and the lamp.
“And Deborah? It will not do to leave the poor woman here; and, shattered as she is, she cannot help herself away. She failed us at the last moment, but she did what she could,” whispered Rachel to Aleph as she pointed to the custode on the bench.
He bent to look at the woman. “No, she cannot walk, and must not be left. I will carry her.”
And he took her up as gently and as easily as one might a babe; and so, following Seti, they went up the steps to the iron door and then out under the blessed stars that seemed to rejoice and exult with them. Seti did not forget to make assurance of safety doubly sure by putting another bolted door between them and pursuit. They found the Egyptian sitting where they had left him. He plainly was able to help himself: so, bidding him follow, they moved on to the gate, where they found the boatmen and peddler much alarmed at their long absence and about going to seek them. This gate also they immediately bolted after them—thus putting a third embarrassment in the way of pursuit. The pinnace-men could scarce restrain their joy and shouts when they saw Aleph among them with the woman in his arms. They did _not_ restrain themselves as soon as the bolt of the gate went clanging home, but sent up a shout full of heartiness and victory. The newly risen moon seemed to shout back again.
They reached the vessel without further adventure.
“Unmoor, men,” cried Seti, “and push out into the river!”
When this had been done, and the pinnace was moving gently with the current, his voice rose again. “Before we spread our sails and take oars for Alexandria, let us acknowledge Him who has answered our prayers.” And so under the bright moonlight, floating gently down the restful ancient river, with no sound on the air but his own majestic voice, the high priest, as if primate of all religions, gave thanks, in few and fitting words and with uplifted hands, for the success of their enterprise to Him “who executeth judgment for the oppressed, who giveth food to the hungry, and who looseth the prisoners.”