"Then swing the censer for me," said the woman, and take this silver
ring--it is all I have."

"A silver ring!" cried the porter, indignantly. "Shall the goddess
be impoverished for your sake! The grains of Anta, that would be used in
purifying you, would cost ten times as much."

"But I have no more," replied the woman, "my husband, for whom I come to
pray, is ill; he cannot work, and my children--"

"You fatten them up and deprive the goddess of her due," cried the gate-
keeper. "Three rings down, or I shut the gate."

"Be merciful," said the woman, weeping. "What will become of us if
Hathor does not help my husband?"

"Will our goddess fetch the doctor?" asked the porter. "She has
something to do besides curing sick starvelings. Besides, that is not
her office. Go to Imhotep or to Chunsu the counsellor, or to the great
Techuti herself, who helps the sick. There is no quack medicine to be
got here."

"I only want comfort in my trouble," said the woman.

"Comfort!" laughed the gate-keeper, measuring the comely young woman
with his eye. "That you may have cheaper."

The woman turned pale, and drew back from the hand the man stretched out
towards her.