But Hotep shook his head in profound apprehension.  He looked at the statue furtively and murmured: 

“O Kenkenes, what madness made thee trifle with the gods?”

“Have I not said?  The goddess herself lured me.  Is she not the embodied essence of Beauty?  The ritual insults her.  Ah, look at the statue, Hotep.  How could Athor be wroth with the sculptor who called such a face as that, a likeness of her!”

“It startles me,” the scribe declared.  “It is supernaturally human.  That is not art, but creation.  O apostate, thine offense is of two-fold seriousness.  Thou hast stolen the function of the divine Mother and made a living thing!”

Kenkenes laughed with sheer joy at his comrade’s genuine praise.  The more dismayed Hotep might be, the more sincere his compliment.  But the scribe, plunged into a stupor of concern lest the authorities discover the sacrilege, went on helplessly.

“What wilt thou do with it when it is done?”

“I have left no mark of myself upon it.”

“Nay, but the priesthood can scent out a blasphemer as a hound scents a jackal.”

“Thou wilt not betray me, Hotep; I shall not publish myself, and the other—­the only other who possesses my secret—­the Israelite, who was my model, is fidelity’s self.  I would trust her with my soul.”

“An Israelite!  Thy nation’s most active foe at this hour!”

“She is no enemy to me, Hotep.”

Slowly the scribe’s eyes traveled from the face of Athor to the face of Kenkenes.  The young sculptor turned away and leaned against the great cube that walled one side of the niche.  He was not prepared to meet his friend’s discerning eyes.  Hotep surveyed him critically.  A momentous surmise forced itself upon him.  He went to Kenkenes and, laying an affectionate arm across his shoulder, leaned not lightly thereon.

“Thou hast said, O my Kenkenes, that I should understand thy meaning when thou spakest mysteriously a while agone.  May I not know, now?  Thou didst plead offense to Athor and didst boast her pardon.  Later thou calledst her thy confederate.  And earliest of all, thou didst confess to asking favor of her.  How may all these things be?”

“Look thou,” Kenkenes began at once.  “On one hand, I have my new belief concerning sculpture—­on the other, the beliefs of my fathers.  I practise the first and make propitiation for the second.  No harm hath overtaken me.  Am I not pardoned?  Furthermore, Athor is beauty, and beauty guided my hand in creating this statue.  Therefore, Athor being beauty, Athor was my confederate.  Is it not lucid, O Son of Wisdom?”

Hotep laughed.  “Nay, thou wilt not prosper, Kenkenes.  Thou servest two masters.  But there is one thing still unexplained—­the favor of Athor.”

“That is not mine to boast.  I have but craved it,” Kenkenes replied hesitatingly.

“Where doth she live?” Hotep asked, by way of experiment.