o days my flesh healed up, so that after a
time no marks remained. But I bethought me that I had disobeyed the word
of the old High Priest, Amenemhat, who was called my father. For till
this day I knew not that he was in truth my father according to the
flesh, having been taught that his own son was slain as I have written;
and that he had been pleased, with the sanction of the Divine ones, to
take me as an adopted son and rear me up, that I might in due season
fulfil an office about the Temple. Therefore I was much troubled, for I
feared the old man, who was very terrible in his anger, and ever spoke
with the cold voice of Wisdom. Nevertheless, I determined to go in
to him and confess my fault and bear such punishment as he should be
pleased to put upon me. So with the red spear in my hand, and the red
wounds on my breast, I passed through the outer court of the great
temple and came to the door of the place where the High Priest dwelt. It
is a great chamber, sculptured round about with the images of the solemn
Gods, and the sunlight comes to it in the daytime by an opening cut
through the stones of the massy roof. But at night it was lit by a
swinging lamp of bronze. I passed in without noise, for the door was
not altogether shut, and, pushing my way through the heavy curtains that
were beyond, I stood with a beating heart within the chamber.

The lamp was lit, for the darkness had fallen, and by its light I saw
the old man seated in a chair of ivory and ebony at a table of stone on
which were spread mystic writings of the words of Life and Death. But
he read no more, for he slept, and his long white beard rested upon the
table like the beard of a dead man. The soft light from the lamp fell
on him, on the papyri and the gold ring upon his hand, where were graven
the symbols of the Invisible One, but all around was shadow. It fell on
the shaven head, on the white robe, on the cedar staff of priesthood
at his side, and on the ivory of the lion-footed chair; it showed
the mighty brow of power, the features cut in kingly mould, the white
eyebrows, and the dark hollows of the deep-set eyes. I looked and
trembled, for there was about him that which was more than the dignity
of man. He had lived so long with the Gods, and so long kept company
with them and with thoughts divine, he was so deeply versed in all those
mysteries which we do but faintly discern, here in this upper air, that
even now, before his time, he partook of