the Books of the Dead, but after the fashion of an earlier time, such as
I have seen in certain ancient tombs, with pictures of wild fowl rising
from the swamps and of trees and plants as they grow. Against the walls
hung racks in which were papyrus rolls, and on the hearth burned a fire
of cedar-wood.

By this fire stood the Prince, whom I knew from his statues. His years
appeared fewer than mine although we were born upon the same day, and he
was tall and thin, very fair also for one of our people, perhaps because
of the Syrian blood that ran in his veins. His hair was straight and
brown like to that of northern folk who come to trade in the markets of
Egypt, and his eyes were grey rather than black, set beneath somewhat
prominent brows such as those of his father, Meneptah. His face was
sweet as a woman's, but made curious by certain wrinkles which ran from
the corners of the eyes towards the ears. I think that these came
from the bending of the brow in thought, but others say that they were
inherited from an ancestress on the female side. Bakenkhonsu my friend,
the old prophet who served under the first Seti and died but the other
day, having lived a hundred and twenty years, told me that he knew her
before she was married, and that she and her descendant, Seti, might
have been twins.

In his hand the Prince held an open roll, a very ancient writing as I,
who am skilled in such matters that have to do with my trade, knew from
its appearance. Lifting his eyes suddenly from the study of this roll,
he saw the chamberlain standing before him.

"You came at a good time, Pambasa," he said in a voice that was very
soft and pleasant, and yet most manlike. "You are old and doubtless
wise. Say, are you wise, Pambasa?"