From his position Kenkenes commanded a long view of the street that declined sharply toward the river.  As yet there was nothing to be seen of the pageant, but the dense crowds far down the highway swayed backward from the narrow path between them.  Presently, scantily-clad runners were distinguished coming in a slow trot between the multitudes.  The lane widened before the swing of their maces and there were cries of alarm as the spectators in the middle were pressed between the retreating forward ranks and the immovable rear.  Running water-bearers pursued the couriers with gurglets, sprinkling the way.  Directly after these, slim bare-limbed youths came in a rapid pace strewing the path with flowers and palm-leaves.  By this time the intermittent sound of music had grown insistent and continuous.  Solemn bodies of priests approached, series after series of the shaven, white-robed ministers of Amen.  The murmur had grown to an uproar.  The wild clamor of trumpet, pipe, cymbal and sistrum, with the long drone of the arghool as undertone, drifted by.  The upper orders of priests followed in the vibrating wake of the musicians.  Then came Loi, high-priest to the patron god of Thebes, walking alone, his ancient figure most pitifully mocked by the richness of his priestly robes.

After him the great god, Amen, in his ark.

The air was rent with acclaim.  The crowd was too dense for any one to prostrate himself, but every Egyptian, potentate or slave, assumed as nearly as possible the posture of humility.  Kenkenes bent reverently, but he lifted his eyes and looked long at the passing ark.  Six priests bore it upon their shoulders.  It was a small boat, elaborately carved, and the cabin in the center—­the retreat of the deity—­was picketed with a cordon of sacred images.  The entire feretory was overlaid with gold and crusted with gems.

Mentu, his father, had planned one for Ptah, and a noble work it was,—­quite equal to this, Kenkenes thought.

His artistic deliberations were interrupted by an angry tone in the clamor about him.  The Israelites had called out a demonstration of contempt before, and he guessed at once that they had further displeased the rabble.  It was even as he had thought.  The four bearers with folded arms contemplated the threatening crowd with a sidelong gaze of contempt.  The stately Israelite stood in a dream, her brilliant eyes fixed in profound preoccupation on the distance.  Kenkenes knew by the present attitude of the group that they had made no obeisance to Amen.  Hence the mutterings among the faithful.  Few had seen the offense at first, but the demonstration spread nevertheless, and assumed ominous proportions.

“Nay, now,” Kenkenes thought impatiently, “such impiety is foolhardy.”  But he drifted into the group of Hebrews and stood between the woman of Israel and her insulters.  The bearers glanced at him, at one another, and closed up beside him, but he had eyes only for the majestic Israelite.  Not till he saw her bend with singular grace did he look again on the pageant, interested to know what had won her homage.