and wrinkled like the bark of a gnarled oaklike gay flowers amid withered
leaves, forming a strange contrast to his lean, bowed, and shrivelled
form.

The old man had long since resigned the management of business affairs to
the second prophet, Bai, but he held firmly to his honors, his seat at
Pharaoh's side, and his place in the council, where, though he said
little, his opinion was more frequently followed than that of the
eloquent, ardent second prophet, who was many years his junior.

The old man had not quitted Pharaoh's side since the plague entered the
palace, yet to-day he felt more vigorous than usual; the hot desert wind,
which weakened others, refreshed him. He was constantly shivering,
despite the panther-skin which hung over his back and shoulders, and the
heat of the day warmed his chilly old blood.

Moses, the Hebrew, had been his pupil, and never had he instructed a
nobler nature, a youth more richly endowed with all the gifts of
intellect. He had initiated the Israelite into all the highest
mysteries, anticipating the greatest results for Egypt and the
priesthood, and when the Hebrew one day slew an overseer who had
mercilessly beaten one of his race, and then fled into the desert, Rui
had secretly mourned the evil deed as if his own son had committed it and
must suffer the consequences. His intercession had secured Mesu's
pardon; but when the latter returned to Egypt and the change had occurred
which other priests termed his "apostasy," the old man had grieved even
more keenly than over his flight. Had he, Rui, been younger, he would
have hated the man who had thus robbed him of his fairest hopes; but the
aged priest, who read men's hearts like an open book and could judge the
souls of his fellow-mortals with the calm impartiality of an unclouded