Kenkenes had come to the Nile that morning, rejoicing in the
propitiousness of his opportunity. Mentu was at that moment in On,
seeing to the decoration of the second obelisk reared by Meneptah to
the sun. The great artist had prepared to be absent a month, and had
left no work for his son to do. But the coming of Ranas with the news
of his mission's failure had filled Kenkenes with angry discomfiture.
He dismissed his slave and rowed down-stream toward Masaarah.
As he approached the abandoned wharf, a glance showed him that some
effort toward restoring it had been made. The overgrowth of vines had
been cut away and the level of the top had been raised by several
fragments of rough stone.
The tracks of heavy sledges had crushed the young grain across the
field toward the cliffs.
Kenkenes stood up and looked toward the terraced front of the hills, in
which were the quarries.
There were dust, smoke, stir and moving figures.
The stone-pits were active again after the lapse of half a century.
"By the grace of the mutable Hathors," the young man muttered as he
dropped back into his seat, "my father may yet decorate a temple to
Set, but by the same favor, it seems that I shall be snatched from the
brink of a sacrilege.
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