The white fronts of Memphis receded slowly, for neither took up the
oars. Hotep hesitated to break the silence that fell after the end of
the hymn. The shadow on the singer's face proved that the heart would
have flinched at any effort to soothe it. It was the young sculptor's
privilege to speak first.
After a long silence, Kenkenes roused himself.
"Look to the course of the bari, Hotep, and chide it with an oar if it
means to beach us. I doubt me much if I am fit to control it with the
wine of this wind on my brain."
Hotep took up the oars and rowed strongly. "Thine offense does not sit
heavily on thy conscience," he said.
"I have made my peace with Athor."
"Hath she given thee her word?"
"Nay, no need. For I did not offend her. Rather hath she abetted
me--urged me in my trespass. She persuaded me to become vagrant with
her, and I followed the divine runaway into the desert. I doubt not I
was chosen because I was as lawless as her needs required. Athor is
beautiful and would prove herself so to her devotees. And to me was
the lovely labor appointed."
Hotep looked at him mystified.
"By the gods," he said at last, "thou hadst better get in out of this
wind."
Kenkenes laughed genuinely.
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