say that the king was afraid, but I tell you, Kenkenes, mine own hair is
not yet content to lie flat. She concentrated all the denunciatory
bitterness of the tongue and pronounced and gloried in the doom of the
dynasty, heaping the blame of its destruction upon the head of Meneptah!"

The scribe finished his story in a whisper. Kenkenes was by this time
sitting up, his eyes shining with interest and wonder.

"Gods! Hotep, thou dost make me creep."

"Creep!" the scribe responded heartily, "never in my life have I so
wanted to flee a royal audience. When she had done, she turned and swept
from the presence and no man lifted a finger to stay her."

For a moment there was an expressive silence between the two young men.
At last Kenkenes broke it in a voice of intense admiration.

"What an intrepid spirit! Small wonder that she did not heed the
condemnation of the rabble at mid-day--she who was fresh from a triumph
over the Pharaoh!"

Hotep's eyes widened warningly and he shook his head.

"Nay, hush me not, Hotep," Kenkenes went on in a reckless whisper. "I
must say it. Would to the gods I had been there to copy it in stone!"

"Hush! babbler!" the scribe exclaimed, his eyes twinkling nevertheless,
"thine art will make an untimely mummy of thee yet."

Kenkenes poured out his first glass of wine and set it down untasted.
The contemplated sacrilege in stone opposite Memphis confronted him.

"If Egypt's lack of art does not kill me first," he added in defense.

"Nay," Hotep protested, "why wouldst thou perpetuate the affront to the
Pharaoh?"

"Because it is history and a better delineation of the Israelitish
character than all the wordy chronicles of the historians could depict,"
was the spirited reply.

"But the ritual," Hotep began, with the assurance of a man that feels he
is armed with unanswerable argument.

"Sing me no song of the ritual," Kenkenes broke in impatiently. "The
ritual offends mine ears--my sight, my sense. We have quarreled beyond
any treaty-making--ever."

The other looked at him with amazement and much consternation.

"Art thou mad?" he exclaimed.

"Nay, but I am rebellious--as rebellious as the Israelite, for I have
already shaken my fist in the face of the sculptor's canons. And the
time will come when the world will call my revolt just. I would there
were a chronicler, here, now, to write me down, since I would be
remembered as the pioneer. I shall win no justification, in