If magnificence came to conduct Meneptah, it met splendor as its charge.  The pastoral solitude of the Middle country was routed for the moment by an assemblage of the brilliance and power of all Egypt.

With a shout that made the remote hills reply again and again, the convoy divided, a half retreating to either side of the Nile and the home-coming fleet entered the hollow.  The nomarch’s boat detached itself from its following and took up a position in the center, beside the royal barge.  The advance was delayed only long enough for the escort to turn, take in the sails—­for they went against the wind now—­and form an outer parenthesis.  Then with another shout the triumphant return began.

The other fleet absorbed the attention of each voyager.  Every barge had a new-comer alongside and near enough to talk across the water.  Therefore a great babel and confusion arose in which rational conversation became impossible.  Then vessels essayed to approach nearer one another and the formation began to break.  The right oars of one boat and the left of another would be withdrawn and the vessels lashed together.  Then they were permitted to drift, with some poling to keep them in the proper direction.  When this proceeding was impracticable because of the construction of the barges, one boat would take another in tow until the occupants of one had joined those of the other by a gang-plank laid from prow to stern.  By sunset the merrymaking had developed into indiscriminate boarding.  Only the vessels of the king and the nomarch and the barge of Senci were not involved in the uproarious revel that followed.  The fates were amiable and no mishaps occurred in spite of the recklessness of the pastime.  Men and women alike took part in the play, and the general temper of the merrymakers was good-natured and innocent.

The dusk fell and the shadows of night were made seductive by the dim lamps that began to burn from mast-top and prow.  On the barge of Senci only a single and subdued light was swung from a bronze tripod in the bow, and the fourteen charges of the young sculptor, wearied with the long day’s excitement, were disposed in graceful abandon under its glow.  Senci sat with Ta-meri’s head in her lap, and three or four drowsy little girls were tumbled about her feet.  Only Io was wide awake, and even her sweet face wore a pensive air.  Kenkenes had retired to the stern, where, under the high up-standing end, stood a long wooden bench.  The young sculptor had flung himself on this, and with the whole of the boat and its freight within range of his vision, he listened to the riot about him.

Suddenly the sound of cautiously wielded oars attracted his attention.  In the end of the boat was a hawser-hole, painted and shaped like the eye of Osiris.  Kenkenes turned about on his couch and watched through this aperture.

A barge, judiciously darkened, emerged into the circle of faint radiance about Senci’s boat.  There were probably a dozen Theban nobles of various ages grouped in attitudes of hushed expectancy in the bow.  One robust peer, with a boat-hook in his hand, leaned over the prow.  Another, barely older than fourteen, had mounted the side of the boat, and steadying himself by the shoulder of a young lord, gazed ahead at the group in the bow of Senci’s boat.