you, a gift that will grow and grow in such a breast as yours, if only you will put away the flesh and make room for it, Ana.  Man, do not weep—­laugh as I do, Oho-ho!  Give me my staff, and good-night.  Forget not that we sit together at the crowning to-morrow, for you are a King’s Companion and that rank once conferred is one which no new Pharaoh can take away.  It is like the gift of the spirit, Ana, which is hard to win, but once won more eternal than the stars.  Oh! why do I live so long who would bathe in it, as when a child I used to bathe in Nile?”

On the following day at the appointed hour I went to the great hall of the palace, that in which I had first seen Meneptah, and took my stand in the place allotted to me.  It was somewhat far back, perhaps because it was not wished that I, who was known to be the private scribe of Seti, should remind Egypt of him by appearing where all could see me.

Great as was the hall the crowd filled it to its furthest corners.  Moreover no common man was present there, but rather every noble and head-priest in Egypt, and with them their wives and daughters, so that all the dim courts shone with gold and precious gems set upon festal garments.  While I was waiting old Bakenkhonsu hobbled towards me, the crowd making way for him, and I could see that there was laughter in his sunken eyes.

“We are ill-placed, Ana,” he said.  “Still if any of the many gods there are in Egypt should chance to rain fires on Pharaoh, we shall be the safer.  Talking of gods,” he went on in a whisper, “have you heard what happened an hour ago in the temple of Ptah of Tanis whence I have just come?  Pharaoh and all the Blood-royal—­save one—­walked according to custom before the statue of the god which, as you know, should bow its head to show that he chooses and accepts the king.  In front of Amenmeses went the Princess Userti, and as she passed the head of the god bowed, for I saw it, though all pretended that they did not see.  Then came Pharaoh and stood waiting, but it would not bow, though the priests called in the old formula, ‘The god greets the king.’

“At length he went on, looking as black as night, and others of the blood of Rameses followed in their order.  Last of all limped Saptah and, behold! the god bowed again.”

“How and why does it do these things?” I asked, “and at the wrong time?”

“Ask the priests, Ana, or Userti, or Saptah.  Perhaps the divine neck has not been oiled of late, or too much oiled, or too little oiled, or prayers—­or strings—­may have gone wrong.  Or Pharaoh may have been niggard in his gifts to that college of the great god of his House.  Who am I that I should know the ways of gods?  That in the temple where I served at Thebes fifty years ago did not pretend to bow or to trouble himself as to which of the royal race sat upon the throne.  Hush!  Here comes Pharaoh.”