“Paaker is secured to us,” replied Katuti positively.  “Who will answer for him?” asked Ani.

“His life shall be in your hand,” replied Katuti gravely.  “My shrewd little dwarf Nemu knows that he has committed some secret crime, which the law punishes by death.”

The Regent’s countenance cleared.

“That alters the matter,” he said with satisfaction.  “Has he committed a murder?”

“No,” said Katuti, “but Nemu has sworn to reveal to you alone all that he knows.  He is wholly devoted to us.”

“Well and good,” said Ani thoughtfully, but he too is imprudent—­much too imprudent.  You are like a rider, who to win a wager urges his horse to leap over spears.  If he falls on the points, it is he that suffers; you let him lie there, and go on your way.”

“Or are impaled at the same time as the noble horse,” said Katuti gravely.  “You have more to win, and at the same time more to lose than we; but the meanest clings to life; and I must tell you, Ani, that I work for you, not to win any thing through your success, but because you are as dear to me as a brother, and because I see in you the embodiment of my father’s claims which have been trampled on.”

Ani gave her his hand and asked: 

“Did you also as my friend speak to Bent-Anat?  Do I interpret your silence rightly?”

Katuti sadly shook her head; but Ani went on:  “Yesterday that would have decided me to give her up; but to-day my courage has risen, and if the Hathors be my friends I may yet win her.”

With these words he went in advance of the widow into the hall, where Paaker was still walking uneasily up and down.

The pioneer bowed low before the Regent, who returned the greeting with a half-haughty, half-familiar wave of the hand, and when he had seated himself in an arm-chair politely addressed Paaker as the son of a friend, and a relation of his family.

“All the world,” he said, “speaks of your reckless courage.  Men like you are rare; I have none such attached to me.  I wish you stood nearer to me; but Rameses will not part with you, although—­although—­In point of fact your office has two aspects; it requires the daring of a soldier, and the dexterity of a scribe.  No one denies that you have the first, but the second—­the sword and the reed-pen are very different weapons, one requires supple fingers, the other a sturdy fist.  The king used to complain of your reports—­is he better satisfied with them now?”

“I hope so,” replied the Mohar; “my brother Horus is a practised writer, and accompanies me in my journeys.”

“That is well,” said Ani.  “If I had the management of affairs I should treble your staff, and give you four—­five—­six scribes under you, who should be entirely at your command, and to whom you could give the materials for the reports to be sent out.  Your office demands that you should be both brave and circumspect; these characteristics are rarely united; but there are scriveners by hundreds in the temples.”