“You have all met here now at my call.  All have obeyed it excepting those holy men consecrated to Serapis, whose vows forbid their breaking their seclusion, and Irene, the water-bearer.  Once more I call, ‘Irene,’ a second, and a third time—­and still no answer; I now appeal to you all assembled here, great and small, men and women who serve Serapis.  Can any one of you give any information as to the whereabouts of this young girl?  Has any one seen her since, at break of day, she placed the first libation from the Well of the Sun on the altar of the god?  You are all silent!  Then no one has met her in the course of this day?  Now, one question more, and whoever can answer it stand forth and speak the words of truth.

“By which gate did this lady of rank depart who visited the temple early this morning?—­By the eastern gate—­good.

“Was she alone?—­She was.

“By which gate did the epistolographer Eulaeus depart?—­By the east.

“Was he alone?—­He was.

“Did any one here present meet the chariot either of the lady or of Eulaeus?”

“I did,” cried a car-driver, whose daily duty it was to go to Memphis with his oxen and cart to fetch provisions for the kitchen, and other necessaries.

“Speak,” said the high-priest.

“I saw,” replied the man, “the white horses of my Lord Eulaeus hard by the vineyard of Khakem; I know them well.  They were harnessed to a closed chariot, in which besides himself sat a lady.”

“Was it Irene?” asked Asclepiodorus.

“I do not know,” replied the tarter, “for I could not see who sat in the chariot, but I heard the voice of Eulaeus, and then a woman’s laugh.  She laughed so heartily that I had to screw my mouth up myself, it tickled me so.”

While Klea supposed this description to apply to Irene’s merry laugh-which she had never thought of with regret till this moment—­the high-priest exclaimed: 

“You, keeper of the eastern gate, did the lady and Eulaeus enter and leave this sanctuary together?”

“No,” was the answer.  “She came in half an hour later than he did, and she quitted the temple quite alone and long after the eunuch.”

“And Irene did not pass through your gate, and cannot have gone out by it?—­I ask you in the name of the god we serve!”

“She may have done so, holy father,” answered the gate-keeper in much alarm.  “I have a sick child, and to look after him I went into my room several times; but only for a few minutes at a time-still, the gate stands open, all is quiet in Memphis now.”

“You have done very wrong,” said Asclepiodorus severely, “but since you have told the truth you may go unpunished.  We have learned enough.  All you gate-keepers now listen to me.  Every gate of the temple must be carefully shut, and no one—­not even a pilgrim nor any dignitary from Memphis, however high a personage he may be—­is to enter or go out without my express permission; be as alert as if you feared an attack, and now go each of you to his duties.”