a shuttle. If Kenkenes sat, he paced the
tessellated pavement slowly and with a foot-fall lighter than a birds.
The sculptor eyed him understandingly, and finally arose.

"Come, Anubis! Tit, tit, tit!" he called, backing toward the
work-room. Anubis bounded after him, but as Kenkenes paused just over
the threshold, the ape also halted. His master retreated to the rear
of the room still calling, but to the ape there was something
portentous familiar in this proceeding. It hinted of imprisonment.
Turning as though pursued, he disappeared up an acacia tree from which
he could not be dislodged. With a vexed exclamation, Kenkenes passed
out of the court into the house, slamming the swinging door so sharply
that it sprang open again after him. As the old portress put back the
outer doors leading into the street, that her young master might go
forth, a shadow quick as thought slipped out after him. The old
portress clapped her hands with a shrill command but the shadow was
gone.

Once more in his work-day dress, his wallet of tools and provisions
across his shoulder, the young sculptor passed toward the Nile, moody
and unhappy but determined. At the river-side he hired the shallow
bari that had given him faithful service for so long, and receiving the
oars from Sepet, the boatman, prepared to push away. At that moment,
Anubis, tremulous but unrepentant, bounded in beside him.

"Anubis!" Kenkenes exclaimed. "Of a truth I believe thou art possessed
of the arts of magic. Now, if thou art lost in the hills and devoured
by a wolf, upon thine own head be it. Pull in that paw, before thou
becomest a foolish sacrifice to the sacred crocodile. I wonder thy
self-respect does not keep thee from coming when thou art unwelcome."
And subsiding into silence, the sculptor turned toward Masaarah.

He made a landing below the stone wharf, for there a two-oared bari was
already drawn up, and the tangle of herbage was a safe hiding-place for
his own boat. He looked toward the quarry and hesitated. He had no
heart yet to face her, who had laid his cruelest sorrow on him. He
would continue his work on Athor until he had gathered assurance from
that unforbidding face.

His light foot made no sound and he entered the niche silently.
Kneeling on the chipped stone at the base of the statue, her face
against the drapings, her arms clasping its knees, was Rachel. In one
hand was the collar of rings. She had not heard the sculptor'