He knew he could not win his friend with the beauty
of that waiting face appealing to him.
"Thus far thou hast borne with me, Kenkenes--and having grown bold
thereby, I would go further. Return with me to Memphis and come hither
no more. She will soon be comforted, if she is not already betrothed.
Egypt needs thee--the Hathors have bespoken good fortune for thee--and
thou art justified in aspiring to nothing less than the hand of a
princess. Come back to Memphis and let her heal thee with her
congruous love."
"Nay, my Hotep, what a waste of words! I will go back to Memphis with
thee, not for thy reasoning, but for mine own--nay, hers."
"Hast thou--did the Israelite--" the scribe began in amazement, and
paused, ashamed of his unbecoming curiosity.
"Aye; and let us speak of it no more. Thou hast my story, my
confidence and my love. Keep the first and the rest shall be thine for
ever."
"And this?" questioned Hotep, nodding toward the statue, though he
resolutely kept the face of Kenkenes turned from it.
"Let it be," Kenkenes replied. Hotep hesitated, dissatisfied, but
feared to insist on its destruction, so he went arm in arm with his
friend down to the river, without a word of protest.
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