While forcing his steed to a slower pace as he passed through the streets of the capital, and the region near the harbor, his mind was so engrossed by his recent experiences and his anxiety concerning the runaway youth, that he paid little attention to the throng of vessels lying at anchor, the motley crowd of ship owners, traders, sailors, and laborers, representatives of all the nations of Africa and Asia, who sought a livelihood here, and the officials, soldiers, and petitioners, who had followed Pharaoh from Thebes to the city of Rameses.

He had even failed to see two men of high rank, though one, Hornecht, the captain of the archers, had waved his hand to him.

They had retired into the deep gateway formed by the pylons at the entrance of the temple of Seth, to escape the clouds of dust which the desert wind was still blowing along the road.

While Hornecht was vainly trying to arrest the horseman’s attention, his companion, Bai, the second prophet of Amon, whispered:  “Let him go!  He will learn where his nephew is soon enough.”

“As you desire,” replied the soldier.  Then he eagerly continued the story he had just begun.  “When they brought the lad in, he looked like a piece of clay in the potter’s workshop.”

“No wonder,” replied the priest; “he had lain long enough in the road in the dust of Typhon.  But what was your steward seeking among the soldiers?”

“We had heard from my adon, whom I sent to the camp last evening, that the poor youth was attacked by a severe fever, so Kasana put up some wine and her nurse’s balsam, and dispatched the old creature with them to the camp.”

“To the youth or to Hosea?” asked the prophet with a mischievous smile.

“To the sufferer,” replied Hornecht positively, a frown darkening his brow.  But, restraining himself, he added as if apologizing:  “Her heart is as soft as wax, and the Hebrew youth--you saw him yesterday......”

“Is a splendid lad, just fitted to win a woman’s heart!” replied the priest laughing.  “Besides, whoever shows kindness to the nephew does not harm the uncle.”

“That was not in her mind,” replied Hornecht bluntly.  “But the invisible God of the Hebrews is not less watchful of his children than the Immortals whom you serve; for he led Hotepu to the youth just as he was at the point of death.  The dreamer would undoubtedly have ridden past him; for the dust had already . . . .”

“Transformed him into a bit of potter’s clay.  But then?”

“Then the old man suddenly saw a glint of gold in the dusty heap.”

“And the stiffest neck will stoop for that.”

“Quite true.  My Hotepu did so, and the broad gold circlet the lad wore flashed in the sunlight and preserved his life a second time.”

“The luckiest thing is that we have the lad in our possession.”

“Yes, I was rejoiced to have him open his eyes once more.  Then his recovery grew more and more rapid; the doctor says he is like a kitten, and all these mishaps will not cost him his life.  But he is in a violent fever, and in his delirium says all sorts of senseless things, which even my daughter’s nurse, a native of Ascalon, cannot clearly comprehend.  Only she thought she caught Kasana’s name.”