“In the beginning he fell in love, and a soul like his in love is most unreasoning, immoderate and terribly faithful.  The maiden is beautiful—­I saw her—­most divinely beautiful.  She is wise, for I saw that also.  She is good, for I felt it, unreasoning, and when a man hath a woman intuition, a god hath spoken the truth to his heart.  But she is a slave—­an Israelite.”

“An Israelite!”

Hotep bowed his head.

“By the gods of my fathers, I ought not to marvel!  Nay, now, is that not like the boy?  An Israelite!  And half the noble maids of Memphis mad for him!”

“He is not for thee and me to judge, O Rameses,” Hotep interrupted.  “The gods blew another breath in him than animates our souls.  For thee and me such conduct would be the fancies of madmen; for Kenkenes it is but living up to the alien spirit with which the gods endowed him.  It might be torture for him to wed according to our lights.”

“Perchance thou art right.  Go on.”

“It seems that Har-hat looked upon the girl, and taken by her beauty, asked her at the Pharaoh’s hands for his harem.”

“Ah, the—!  Why does he not marry honorably?”

“It is not for me to divine,” Hotep went on calmly.  “The fan-bearer sent his men to take her, but she fled from them to Kenkenes, and he protected her—­hid her away—­where, none but Kenkenes and the maiden know.  Har-hat is most desirous of owning her, but Kenkenes keeps his counsel.  Therefore, Har-hat overtook him in Tape, where he went to get a signet belonging to his father, and imprisoned him till what time he should divulge the hiding-place of the Israelite.”

“Never was there a true villain till Har-hat was born!  What poor feeble shadows have trodden the world for knaves before the fan-bearer came.  Go on.  Hath he put him to torture yet?”

“Aye, from the beginning, though not by the bastinado.  He rends him with suspense and all the doubts and fears for his love that can haunt him in his cell.  But I have more to tell.  There was a signet, an all-potent signet, which belonged to the noble Mentu—­”

“Aye, I remember,” Rameses broke in.  “My grandsire gave it to the murket in recognition of his great work, Ipsambul.  It commands royal favor in the name of Osiris.  That should help the dreamer out of his difficulty.”

“Aye, it should, my Prince, but it did not.  Kenkenes sent it to the Pharaoh, with a petition for his own freedom, but the cares of state were so pressing that the Son of Ptah gave the letter, unopened, to Har-hat for attention.”

Rameses laughed harshly.

“Kenkenes would better content himself.  The Hathors are against him,” he cried.  “Was there ever such consummate misfortune?  What more?”

“Is it not enough, O Rameses?” Hotep answered sternly.  “He hath suffered sufficiently.  Now is it time for them, who profess to love him, to bestir themselves in his behalf.  Thou knowest how near the fan-bearer is to the Pharaoh.  Persuasion can not reach the king that worketh against Har-hat.  Thou alone art as potent with the Son of Ptah.  Wilt thou not prove thy love for Kenkenes and aid him?”