One early morning, in a corridor leading from the entrance, he met Hotep.  A sudden impulse urged him to consult his scribe.

“Where hast thou been?” he asked, noticing Hotep’s street dress.

“To the temple, O Son of Ptah.”

“What hast thou to ask of the gods that thy king can not give thee?”

Hotep hesitated, and the color rushed into his cheeks.  The Hathors tortured him with an opportunity he dared not seize.  How could he ask for Masanath?

“I went to pray for that which all Egyptians crave at this hour—­the succor of Egypt,” he said, instead.

Meneptah signed his scribe to follow him to a seat near by.

“Why may I not require of thee the services of a higher minister?” he began, after he had seated himself.  “Never hast thou failed me, and I can not say so much of the great nobles above thee.  Serve me well in this, Hotep, and thou mayest take the place of some one of these.”

“Let me but serve thee,” the scribe returned placidly; “that is reward in itself.”

“Thou knowest,” the king began, plunging into the heart of the question, “that I yielded to these ravening wolves, Mesu and Aaron.  I have consented to release the Israelites.  But other thought hath come to me in the night.  Thou knowest that no evil hath befallen the land of Goshen.  Har-hat explaineth this strange thing by the location of the strip.  The Nile toucheth it not and rains fall there.  Furthermore the winds blow differently in that district, and withal the hand of Rannu of the harvests hath sheltered it.  It may be, but to me it seemeth that the Hebrew sorcerer hath cast a protecting spell over the spot.  But whatever the cause, the race of churls and their riches have escaped misfortune.  Thinkest thou not, good Hotep, that, if they must go, we may by right require their flocks of them to replenish the pastures of Egypt?”

Surely the Hathors were exploiting themselves this day.  Another opportunity for good and what would come of it?  Hotep knew the man with whom he dealt.  Still it were a sin to slight even an unprofitable chance that seemed to offer alleviation for Egypt.  He would proceed cautiously and do his best.

“Be the little lamp trimmed never so brightly, O Son of Ptah, it may not help the sun.  Thou art monarch, I am thy slave.  How can I mold thee, my King?”

“Others have swayed me, thou modest man.”

“In that hour when thou wast swayed, O Meneptah, another than thyself ruled over Egypt.”

Meneptah looked in amazement at his scribe.  He had never considered the influence of Har-hat in that light, but, by the gods, it seemed strangely correct.  He straightened himself.

“Be thou assured, Hotep, that I weigh right well whatever counsel mine advisers offer me before I indorse it.”

Hotep bowed.  “That I know.  And for that reason do I hesitate to give thee my little thoughts.  It would hurt the man in me to see them thrust aside.”