The lady shrugged her shoulders.  “The Hebrews talk in similitudes.  The prospect of freedom so uplifts them that they chant their purposes to you, and bewilder you with quaint words and hidden meanings.  But these three facts, my Lord, are apparent and most potent in results when combined; they are oppressed beyond endurance; they are many; they are captained by a mystic.  They have but to choose to rebel, and it would tax the martial strength of Egypt to quiet them.”

The magisterial dignity of the little lady was most delightful.  The young sculptor’s sensations were divided between interest in the grave subject she discussed and pleasure in her manner.  Happening to glance in the direction of the scribe, he found the gray eye of his friend fixed upon him from the group of beauties.  Presently Hotep rambled back with an ebony stool and sat a little aloof in thoughtful silence until the visit was over.

When Kenkenes alighted at the door of his father’s house some time later, Hotep leaned over the wheel of the chariot and put his hand on the sculptor’s shoulder.

“Thou hast met Har-hat and, by his own words, thou hast had some unpleasant commerce with him.  What he did to thee I know not, but I shall let thee into mine own quarrel with him.  He lays the curb of silence on my lips and enforces the indifference in my mien.  If I revolt the penalty is humiliation and disaster for Masanath and for me.  I love her, but I dare not let her dream it.  The fan-bearer hath greater things in store for her than a scribe can promise.  I am thy brother in hatred of him.”

The next dawn, even before sunrise, Hotep found Kenkenes once again in the temple before the shrine of Athor.  But this time the scribe knelt silently beside his friend.

When they emerged into the sunless solemnity of the grove he turned to Kenkenes.

“With the licensed forwardness of an old friend, I would ask what thou hast to crave of the lovers’ goddess, O thou loveless?”

“Favor and pardon,” Kenkenes answered.

“So?  But already have I reached the limit.  Not even a friend may ask an accounting of a man’s misdeeds.”

Kenkenes smiled.  “Ask me,” he said, “and spare me the effort of voluntary confession.”

“Then, what hast thou done?”

“Come and look upon mine offense.  Thine eyes will serve thee better than my tongue.”

The pair were in costume hardly fitted for the dust of the roadway, but Memphis was not astir.  They went across the city toward the river and at the landings found an early-rising boatman, who let them his bari.

Kenkenes took the oars and moved out into the middle of the swiftest current of the Nile.  There he headed down-stream and permitted the boat to drift.

The clear heavens, blue and pellucid as a sapphire, were still cool, but from the lower slope down the east a radiance began to crawl upward.  The peaks of the Libyan desert grew wan.