The sculptor had silently taken his humble attempt out of his hand, and
had returned it to him with a smile of encouragement.

From that time a peculiar tie had sprung up between the two. Scherau
would venture to sit down by the sculptor, and try to imitate his
finished images. Not a word was exchanged between them, but often the
deaf old man would destroy the boy's works, often on the contrary improve
them with a touch of his own hand, and not seldom nod at him to encourage
him.

When he staid away the old man missed his pupil, and Scherau's happiest
hours were those which he passed at his side.

He was not forbidden to take some clay home with him. There, when the
old woman's back was turned, he moulded a variety of images which he
destroyed as soon as they were finished.

While he lay on his rack his hands were left free, and he tried to
reproduce the various forms which lived in his imagination, he forgot the
present in his artistic attempts, and his bitter lot acquired a flavor of
the sweetest enjoyment.

But to-day it was too late; he must give up his visit to the tomb of
Rameses.

Once more he looked back at the hut, and then hurried into the dark cave.