“They are speaking Egyptian, I caught a few words.”

“All the better,” said Kaschta.  “Paaker or some of his people are in there; the door is there still, and shut.  If we give four hard and three gentle knocks, it will be opened.  Can you understand what they are saying?”

“Some one is begging to be set free,” replied Pentaur, “and speaks of some traitor.  The other has a rough voice, and says he must follow his master’s orders.  Now the one who spoke before is crying; do you hear?  He is entreating him by the soul of his father to take his fetters off.  How despairing his voice is!  Knock, Kaschta—­it strikes me we are come at the right moment—­knock, I say.”

The soldier knocked first four times, then three times.  A shriek rang through the cave, and they could hear a heavy, rusty bolt drawn back, the roughly hewn door was opened, and a hoarse voice asked: 

“Is that Paaker?”

“No,” answered the soldier, “I am Kaschta.  Do not you know me again, Nubi?”

The man thus addressed, who was Paaker’s Ethiopian slave, drew back in surprise.

“Are you still alive?” he exclaimed.  “What brings you here?”

“My lord here will tell you,” answered Kaschta as he made way for Pentaur to enter the cave.  The poet went up to the black man, and the light of the fire which burned in the cave fell full on his face.

The old slave stared at him, and drew back in astonishment and terror.  He threw himself on the earth, howled like a dog that fawns at the feet of his angry master, and cried out: 

“He ordered it—­Spirit of my master! he ordered it.”  Pentaur stood still, astounded and incapable of speech, till he perceived a young man, who crept up to him on his hands and feet, which were bound with thongs, and who cried to him in a tone, in which terror was mingled with a tenderness which touched Pentaur’s very soul.

“Save me—­Spirit of the Mohar! save me, father!” Then the poet spoke.

“I am no spirit of the dead,” said he.  “I am the priest Pentaur; and I know you, boy; you are Horus, Paaker’s brother, who was brought up with me in the temple of Seti.”

The prisoner approached him trembling, looked at him enquiringly and exclaimed: 

“Be you who you may, you are exactly like my father in person and in voice.  Loosen my bonds, and listen to me, for the most hideous, atrocious, and accursed treachery threatens us the king and all.”

Pentaur drew his sword, and cut the leather thongs which bound the young man’s hands and feet.  He stretched his released limbs, uttering thanks to the Gods, then he cried: 

“If you love Egypt and the king follow me; perhaps there is yet time to hinder the hideous deed, and to frustrate this treachery.”

“The night is dark,” said Kaschita, “and the road to the valley is dangerous.”

“You must follow me if it is to your death!” cried the youth, and, seizing Pentaur’s hand, he dragged him with him out of the cave.