rooms.

The dogs in their open kennels now began to make themselves heard, but
their tones were plaintive and whining, for the storm had frightened the
beasts; their howling cut the pioneer to the heart, for it reminded him
of the poor slain Descher, whose deep voice he sadly missed; and when he
went into his own room he was met by a wild cry of lamentation from the
Ethiopian slave, for the dog which he had trained for Paaker's father,
and which he had loved.

The pioneer threw himself on a seat, and ordered some water to be
brought, that he might cool his aching hand in it, according to the
prescription of Nebsecht.

As soon as the old man saw the broken fingers, he gave another yell of
woe, and when Paaker ordered him to cease he asked:

"And is the man still alive who did that, and who killed Descher?"

Paaker nodded, and while he held his hand in the cooling water he looked
sullenly at the ground. He felt miserable, and he asked himself why the
storm had not swamped the boat, and the Nile had not swallowed him.
Bitterness and rage filled his breast, and he wished he were a child,
and might cry. But his mood soon changed, his breath came quickly, his
breast heaved, and an ominous light glowed in his eyes. He was not
thinking of his love, but of the revenge that was even dearer to him.

"That brood of Rameses!" he muttered. "I will sweep them all away
together--the king, and Mena, and those haughty princes, and many more--
I know how. Only wait, only wait!" and he flung up his right fist with