ch
gain. Eight times within a month have I come for thee. The ninth did
supply thee. Blessed be the number."

Kenkenes smiled. "But there are seven Hathors, and five days in the
epact--and the Radiant Three. To me it seemeth there are many good
numbers."

Hotep plucked his sleeve.

"Come, I will show thee the best of all--One, the One."

Kenkenes arose. "Let me robe myself befittingly, then."

"Not too effectively," the scribe cried after him. "I would not have
thee blight my chances with the full blaze of thy beauty."

When Kenkenes returned Hotep looked at him with another thought than
had been uppermost in his mind since he had noted his friend's
dejection. This time, he was impatient with Kenkenes.

"And such a man as this will permit a woman to break his heart!"

Then was the young sculptor taken to the palace of the Pharaoh. On its
roof, in the great square shadow of its double towers, he was presented
to a dainty little lady, whose black eyes grew large and luminous at
the coming of the scribe. She was Masanath, the youngest and only
unwedded child of Har-hat, the king's adviser. Her oval face had a
uniform rose-leaf flush, her little nose was distinctly aquiline, her
little mouth warm and ripe. Her teeth were dazzlingly white, and, like
a baby's, notched on the edges with minute serrations. But with all
her tininess, she planted her sandal with decision and scrutinized
whosoever addressed her in a way that was eloquent of a force and
perception larger by far than the lady they characterized.

And this was the love of Hotep. Kenkenes smiled. The top of her
pretty head was not nearly on a level with his shoulders, and the small
hand she extended had the determined grip with which a baby seizes a
proffered finger. A vision of the golden Israelite rose beside her and
the smile vanished.

The day was warm and the courtiers in search of a breeze were scattered
about the palace-top in picturesque groups. Masanath occupied a
diphros, or double chair, and a female attendant, standing behind her,
stirred the warm air with a perfumed fan. The lady was on the point of
sharing her seat with one of her guests, when Har-hat, who had been
lounging by himself on the parapet, sauntered over to his daughter's
side.

"My father," she said, "the son of Mentu, the first friend of the noble
Hotep."

Kenkenes had noticed, with a chill, the approach of the fan-bearer,
and, angry with himself for his unr