Night after night, he fell asleep upon his ponderings, but they returned to him with fresh food for thought after every sunset.  The reconstruction of something worshipful was more fascinating than had been the demolition of the gods.  It took many a night’s meditation for the evolution of any fixed idea from the bewildering convection of thought.  And at last he had concluded only that there was one thing—­Power—­Purpose, which was greater than man.

This was not a great achievement.  He had simply permitted the universal, indefinable claim to piety, inherent in every reasoning thing, to assert itself.

Great and sincere and beyond expression was his amazement and his joy when a taskmaster called him from the canal-bed one day and informed him that he was free.

The order was shown him at his request, and the name of the Princess Ta-user as his champion filled him with puzzlement.  State news filtered slowly down even to the level he had occupied for the past eight months.  He had heard that it was Masanath whom the Hathors had destined to wear the crown of queen to Rameses; the convicts had known of the supremacy of Har-hat.  He could not understand how it came that Ta-user, lately discarded, could prevail upon the crown prince to persuade Meneptah, or could herself persuade the king to the overthrow of the fan-bearer’s wishes in the matter.  Furthermore, why should the princess have taken up his cause?  But he did not tarry while he pondered.

His raiment and his money, conscientiously preserved for him by the authorities, had been sent to him, and a little way outside the camp he stepped from the lowest to his rightful rank, swifter than he had descended from it.  Covering his sun-burnt shoulders with his robes, assuming the circlet once again, he went toward the distant city of Thebes, once more in spirit and dress the son of the royal murket.

At the heavy-walled prison across the Nile he asked after the signet.  It had not been returned with the writing.  Neither was there any word to him concerning his prayer to Pharaoh for the liberty of Rachel.  It began to dawn on him that he had been released only after he had been sufficiently punished; that he had failed in the most vital aims of his mission; that the signet, having been found, seemed now to be lost irretrievably.  For a space his relief at his freedom was overshadowed by chagrin, but after a little he recovered himself.  “At least I am free to care for her, now,” he reflected.

Just as he emerged from the imposing doorway of the house of the governor of police, he was jostled by a half-grown boy.  To Kenkenes, it seemed that the youth had been on the point of entering, but instead he apologized inaudibly and walked away.