once, "and shames me because of thee!"

Kenkenes lifted an expressive brow at this unexpected onslaught. "Nay,
now, what have I done?"

"Nothing!" Mentu asserted emphatically; "and for that reason am I
wroth. The Lady Senci's nephew, Hotep, is the new chief of the royal
scribes."

"I call that good tidings," Kenkenes replied, a cheerful note in his
voice, "and worth greeting with a health to Hotep. But thou must
remember, my father, that he is older than I."

"How much?" the elder sculptor asked.

"Three whole revolutions of Ra."

The artist regarded his son scornfully for a moment.

"The Lady Senci wishes me to prepare plans for the further elaboration
of her tomb," he went on, at last, "but the work on the obelisk may not
be laid aside. If I might trust you to go on with them, the Lady Senci
need not wait."

"But I have, this moment, been summoned by my holy uncle, Asar-Mut, to
go on a journey, and I know not when I return," Kenkenes explained.

Mentu gazed at him without comprehending.

"A messenger on his way to Tape from Snofru was overtaken with
misfortune here, and Asar-Mut, getting word of it, sent for me," the
young man continued. "I can only guess that he wishes me to carry on
the message."

"Humph!" the elder sculptor remarked. "Asar-Mut has kingly tastes.
The couriers of priests are not usually of the nobility. But get thee
gone."

The pair separated and the young man passed into the house. The ape
under the bunch of leaves in a palm-top looked after him fixedly for a
moment, and then sliding down the tree, disappeared among the flowers.

When, half an hour later, Kenkenes entered a cross avenue leading to a
great square in which the temple stood, he found the roadway filled
with people, crowding about a group of disheveled women. These were
shrieking, wildly tearing their hair, beating themselves and throwing
dust upon their heads. Kenkenes immediately surmised that there was
something more than the usual death-wail in this.

He touched a man near him on the shoulder.

"Who may these distracted women be?" he asked.

"The mothers of Khafra and Sigur, and their women."

"Nay! Are these men dead? I knew them once.

"They are by this time. They were to be hanged in the dungeon of the
house of the governor of police at this hour," the man answered with
morbid relish in his tone. Kenkenes looked at him in horror.

"What had they done?" he asked. The man plunged eagerly int