at the outer portal in her curricle," she said, addressing Mentu.

The great man sprang to his feet, glanced hurriedly at his ink-stained
fingers, at his robe, and then fled across the court into the door he
had entered to change his dress the day before.

Kenkenes smiled, for Mentu had been a widower these ten Nile floods.

The slave still lingered.

"Also is there a messenger for thee, master," she said, bowing again.

"So? Let him enter."

The man whom the slave ushered in a few minutes later was old, spare
and bent, but he was alert and restless. His eyes were brilliant and
over them arched eyebrows that were almost white. He made a jerky
obeisance.

"Greeting, son of Mentu. Dost thou remember me?"

The young man looked at his visitor for a moment.

"I remember," he said at last. "Thou art Ranas, courier to Snofru,
priest of On. Greeting and welcome to Memphis. Enter and be seated."

"Many thanks, but mine errand is urgent. I have been a guest of my
son, who abideth just without Memphis, and this morning a messenger
came to my son's door. He had been sent by Snofru to Tape, but had
fallen ill on the river between On and Memphis. As it happened, the