PHARAOH. [Standing up.] Is he come?
ENENKHET. He is -without, great King, but I dare not bring him before thee.
PHARAOH. Why not?
ENENKHET. Two years he hath lain in his dungeon; the sight of him would offend the King's eyes.
PHARAOH. Bring him!
[TEHUTI goes out.]
ENENKHET. He is very weak.
PHARAOH. Can he speak?
ENENKHET. Ay.
PHARAOH. Why was he thrown into prison?
ENENKHET. He was a slave to Potiphar, great King; the lady Zuleikha accused him—
[Movement in the CROWD.]
PHARAOH. The lady Zuleikha?
ENENKHET. O King, he is a holy man! The lady Zuleikha hath persecuted him. She bade me thrust him into the dungeon; and daily she cometh to listen for his groans. But he ever singeth praises to his God.
PHARAOH. If an injustice have been done, the gods pity the doer.
[The curtains at the back are opened. Enter the four SOLDIERS and TEHUTI, supporting JOSEPH. The CROWD make way for them, falling back among the pillars of the side aisles, and an "Oh!" of amazement and pity issues from it. JOSEPH is, indeed, a pitiable figure. His camel-hair garment is in rags; his hair is long and wild; his face is pinched and drawn; his eyes are sunken. His frame is wasted away to skin and bone and he is shaken with fever and ague, so that he can
