Then he looked at the panorama round him.  Where was the east which in Egypt was clearly defined by the long Nile range?  Down there where it was beginning to be light over the oasis.  To his right hand lay the south, the sacred birth-place of the Nile, the home of the Gods of the Cataracts; but here flowed no mighty stream, and where was there a shrine for the visible manifestation of Osiris and Isis; of Horns, born of a lotus flower in a thicket of papyrus; of Rennut, the Goddess of blessings, and of Zeta?  To which of them could he here lift his hands in prayer?

A faint breeze swept by, the mist vanished like a restless shade at the word of the exorcist, the many-pointed crown of Sinai stood out in sharp relief, and below them the winding valleys, and the dark colored rippling surface of the lake, became distinctly visible.

All was silent, all untouched by the hand of man yet harmonized to one great and glorious whole, subject to all the laws of the universe, pervaded and filled by the Divinity.

He would fain have raised his hand in thanksgiving to Apheru, “the Guide on the way;” but he dared not; and how infinitely small did the Gods now seem to him, the Gods he had so often glorified to the multitude in inspired words, the Gods that had no meaning, no dwelling-place, no dominion but by the Nile.

“To ye,” he murmured, “I cannot pray!  Here where my eye can pierce the distance, as if I myself were a god-here I feel the presence of the One, here He is near me and with me—­I will call upon Him and praise him!”

And throwing up his arms he cried aloud:  “Thou only One!  Thou only One!  Thou only One!” He said no more; but a tide of song welled up in his breast as he spoke—­a flood of thankfulness and praise.

When he rose from his knees, a man was standing by him; his eyes were piercing and his tall figure had the dignity of a king, in spite of his herdsman’s dress.

“It is well for you!” said the stranger in deep slow accents.  “You seek the true God.”

Pentaur looked steadily into the face of the bearded man before him.

“I know you now,” he said.  “You are Mesu.—­[Moses]—­I was but a boy when you left the temple of Seti, but your features are stamped on my soul.  Ameni initiated me, as well as you, into the knowledge of the One God.”

“He knows Him not,” answered the other, looking thoughtfully to the eastern horizon, which every moment grew brighter.

The heavens glowed with purple, and the granite peaks, each sheathed in a film of ice, sparkled and shone like dark diamonds that had been dipped in light.

The day-star rose, and Pentaur turned to it, and prostrated himself as his custom was.  When he rose, Mesu also was kneeling on the earth, but his back was turned to the sun.

When he had ended his prayer, Pentaur said, “Why do you turn your back on the manifestation of the Sun-god?  We were taught to look towards him when he approaches.”