"But be thou assured," the prince continued grimly, "that only so long
as Masanath is not yet mine, shall I endure him. After that he shall
fall as never knave fell or so deserved to fall before. Aye,--but
stay, Hotep. I have not done. I have some small grain of hope for
this unfortunate friend of ours. The marriage hath been delayed. I
shall press my suit, and wed Masanath sooner, if she will, and Kenkenes
need not decay in prison--"
Hotep did not stay longer. He bowed and departed without a word.
"Out upon the man, I offered all I could," Rameses muttered, but
immediately he arose and hurried to the well of the stairway.
"Hotep!" he called. The scribe, half-way down, turned and looked up.
"Return to me in an hour. Give me time to ponder and I may more
profitably help thee," the prince commanded. Hotep bowed and went on.
The hour was barely long enough for the smarting soul of the scribe to
soothe itself. Deep, indeed, his love for Kenkenes that he returned at
all. Masanath's name, spoken so familiarly, so boastingly, by the
prince was fresh outrage to his already affronted heart. It mattered
not that Rameses did not know. His talk of marriage with Masanath was
exultation, nevertheless.
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