As soon as it was light the next morning, and while the stars were yet faint in the sky, she rose up, and having fed the child and done all that was needful for his comfort, she lulled him into a deep and quiet sleep again, and kissed him, and put him into the ark and covered him over with the roof of rushes which she had woven to shield him from the heat of the sun. Then, with her daughter Miriam, she stole off down to the river, no-one by, and hid the ark among the nodding water-weeds by its brink. Having made sure that it would float in safety where it lay, she left her small daughter to keep watch over it, and herself returned home. The child then hid herself among the reeds and rushes where she could keep the ark continually in sight.

The birds flitted back to their haunts; only their trillings and the lapping of the water and the sighing and whisper of the reeds broke the hush. The hours sped softly on, and nothing had come to alarm or disturb the child when of a sudden she heard the sound of voices sweet and clear. She peered out of her hiding- place and, scarcely able to breathe, drew swiftly back.

For, behold, it was the daughter of Pharaoh the King whose voice she had heard, and who with her maidens was come down to the river to bathe. Presently after, still laughing and talking, her maidens withdrew; and, fair themselves as lotus flowers, strayed along by the water-side gathering lilies, while, with none but her own handmaid to attend upon her, this princess, the daughter of Pharaoh, prepared to bathe.

On drawing near to the river, she looked in her loveliness and lo, she saw the ark hidden among the reeds, black but glinting in the sun, and rocked gently to and fro upon the rippled water. She stayed and, with the palm of her hand above her eyes, steadfastly watched it awhile, in wonder of what this strange object could be. Then she bade her handmaid wade into the water and bring it in.

This she did. Lifting up the ark in her arms from out of the water, she carried it to her mistress, and she herself opened it. And there, mantled up softly within, its cheek flushed with sleep, was a little child, which, as soon as the bright beams of the sun pierced into the narrow darkness wherein it lay, stirred in its slumbers, awoke and wept. The daughter of Pharaoh stooped, and taking the child into her arms, nestled it to her breast, and soothed its fears.

At sound of her gentle voice it looked up into her face and stayed its weeping; and with the tears yet wet upon its cheek, thrust out a hand and smiled. The young princess gazed at it in wonder and delight. She was smitten to the heart by its beauty and helplessness, and was filled with compassion. Glancing covertly about her, she said to her handmaid: ‘See now, this must be one of the Hebrew women’s children. What shall be done to keep it safe—for surely it is in great danger.’

At this, the child’s sister, who had been intently watching all that took place, drew near, and bowing herself before the daughter of Pharaoh, asked if she should go and call one of the Hebrew women, to nurse and tend it.

‘Do as thou sayest,’ said the daughter of Pharaoh, ‘and go quickly, for I know not how long the child has been without food.’

Her heart bounding with joy and excitement, the little maid at once ran off to her mother and told her everything that she had seen and heard. They came back together, and the daughter of Pharaoh, after but one look into the woman’s face, gave the babe into her keeping.

‘Take this child into thy charge,’ she said, ‘nurse it most carefully, and see that no harm come to it. If any should ask whose child it is, send word at once to me, and I will protect thee. It shall stay with thee until it is grown a little, and is of an age to be safe with me. And thou shalt have the wages due to thee.’

At this the woman—who was indeed the child’s own mother—could hardly keep back her tears, for joy. She bowed herself before the daughter of Pharaoh and in all things did as she was bidden. From that day on her care was over. She loved the child ever more dearly, her one sorrow being the thought that