“My Daughter,” answered the old man in a sweet, grave voice, “I come from the wilderness which is my home.  Long have I outlived all those of my generation, yes, and their children also.  Therefore the wilderness and the forest that do not change are now my only friends, since they alone knew me when I was young.  Be pitiful now to me, for I am poor, so poor that for three whole days no food has passed my lips.  It was the smell of the meat which you have with you that led me to you.  Give me of that meat, Daughter, for I starve.”

“It is yours, O——­” and she paused.

“I am called Kepher.”

“Kepher, Kepher!” repeated Tua, for she thought it strange that a beggar-man should be named after that scarabaeus insect which among the Egyptians was the symbol of eternity.  “Well, take and eat, O Kepher,” she said, and handed him the basket that contained what was left to them of their store.

The beggar took it, and having looked up to heaven as though to ask a blessing on his meal, sat down upon the sand and began to devour the food ravenously.

“Lady,” said Asti, “he will eat it all, and then we shall starve in this desert.  He is a locust, not a man,” she added, as another cake disappeared.

“He is our guest,” answered Tua gravely, “let him take what we have to give.”

For a while Asti was silent, then again she broke out into remonstrance.

“Peace, Nurse,” replied Tua, “I have said that he is our guest, and the law of hospitality may not be broken.”

“Then the law of hospitality will bring us to our deaths,” muttered Asti.

“If so, so let it be, Nurse; at least this poor man will be filled, and for the rest, as always, we must trust to Amen our father.”

Yet as she spoke the words tears gathered in her eyes, for she knew that Asti was right, and now that all the food was gone, on which with care they might have lived for two days or more, soon they would faint, and perish, unless help came to them, which was not likely in that lonesome place.  Once, not so long ago, they had starved for lack of sustenance, and it was the thought of that slow pain so soon to be renewed, that brought the water to her eyes.

Meanwhile Kepher, whose appetite for one so ancient was sharp indeed, finished the contents of the basket down to the last date, and handed it back to Tua with a bow, saying: 

“I thank you, Daughter; the Queen of Egypt could not have entertained me more royally,” and he peered at her with his horny eyes.  “I who have been empty for long, am full again, and since I cannot reward you I pray to the gods that they will do so.  Beautiful Daughter, may you never know what it is to lack a meal.”

At this saying Tua could restrain herself no more.  A large tear from her eyes fell upon Kepher’s rough hand as she answered with a little sob: 

“I am glad that you are comforted with meat, but do not mock us, Friend, seeing that we are but lost wanderers who very soon must starve, since now our food is done.”