ch the men as far as
this."

The soldier went back, and Pentaur listened for any sounds that might
come from the same direction as the smoke. He fancied he could perceive a
small gleam of light, and he certainly heard quite plainly, first a tone
of complaint, then an angry voice; he went towards the light, feeling his
way by the wall on his left; the light shone broader and brighter, and
seemed to issue from a crack in a door.

By this time the soldier had rejoined Pentaur, and both listened for a
few minutes; then the poet whispered to his guide:

"They are speaking Egyptian, I caught a few words."

"All the better," said Kaschta. "Paaker or some of his people are in
there; the door is there still, and shut. If we give four hard and three
gentle knocks, it will be opened. Can you understand what they are
saying?"

"Some one is begging to be set free," replied Pentaur, "and speaks of
some traitor. The other has a rough voice, and says he must follow his
master's orders. Now the one who spoke before is crying; do you hear? He
is entreating him by the soul of his father to take his fetters off. How
despairing his voice is! Knock, Kaschta--it strikes me we are come at the
right moment--knock, I say."

The soldier knocked first four times, then three times. A shriek rang
through the cave, and they could hear a heavy, rusty bolt drawn back, the
roughly hewn door was opened, and a hoarse voice asked:

"Is that Paaker?"

"No," answered the soldier, "I am Kaschta. Do not you know me again,
Nubi?"

The man thus addressed, who was Paaker's Ethiopian slave, drew back in
surprise.

"Are you still alive?" he exclaimed. "What brings you here?"

"My lord here will tell you," answered Kaschta as he made way for Pentaur
to enter the cave. The poet went up to the black man, and the light of
the fire which burned in the cave fell full on his face.

The old slave stared at him, and drew back in astonishment and terror. He
threw himself on the earth, howled like a dog that fawns at the feet of
his angry master, and cried out:

"He ordered it--Spirit of my master! he ordered it." Pentaur stood still,
astounded and incapable of speech, till he perceived a young man, who
crept up to him on his hands and feet, which were bound with thongs, and
who cried to him in a tone, in which terror was mingled with a tenderness
which touched Pentaur's very soul.

"Save me--Spirit of the Mohar! save me, father!" Then the poet spoke.

"I