He called aloud to the one who knocked, and asked him what was his will.

He looked up, and in a voice so rough and imperious, that the lady in the
litter shrank in horror as its tones suddenly violated the place of the
dead, he cried out--"How long are we to wait here for you--you dirty
hound? Come down and open the door and then ask questions. If the
torch-light is not bright enough to show you who is waiting, I will score
our name on your shoulders with my whip, and teach you how to receive
princely visitors."

While the porter muttered an unintelligible answer and came down the
steps within to open the door, the lady in the chariot turned to her
impatient companion and said in a pleasant but yet decided voice, "You
forget, Paaker, that you are back again in Egypt, and that here you have
to deal not with the wild Schasu,--[A Semitic race of robbers in the cast
of Egypt.]--but with friendly priests of whom we have to solicit a favor.
We have always had to lament your roughness, which seems to me very ill-
suited to the unusual circumstances under which we approach this
sanctuary."

Although these words were spoken in a tone rather of regret than of
blame, they wounded the sensibilities of the person addressed; his wide
nostrils began to twitch ominously, he clenched his right hand over the
handle of his whip, and, while he seemed to be bowing humbly, he struck
such a heavy blow on the bare leg of a slave who was standing near to
him, an old Ethiopian, that he shuddered as if from sudden cold, though-
knowing his lord only too well--he let no cry of pain escape him.
Meanwhile the gate-keeper had opened the door, and with him a tall young
priest stepped out into the open air to ask the will of the intruders.