The cup-bearer took but a single glance at Kenkenes and started back.
"Thou!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "Out of Amenti!"
"And nigh returning into it again," was the tired reply.
In a daze, Nechutes took the offered hands and stared at Kenkenes
through the dark.
"Where hast thou been?" he finally asked.
"In the profoundest depths of trouble, Nechutes, nor have I come out
therefrom."
The cup-bearer's face showed compassion even in the dusk.
"Nay, now; thine was but the fortune a multitude of lovers have
suffered before thee," he said, with a contrite note in his deep voice.
"It was even odds between us and I won. Hold it not against me,
Kenkenes."
It was the sculptor's turn to be amazed. But with one of the instant
realizations that acute memory effects, he recalled that he had
disappeared immediately after Nechutes had been accepted by the Lady
Ta-meri. And now, by the word of the apologetic cup-bearer, was it
made apparent to Kenkenes that a tragic fancy concerning the cause of
his disappearance had taken root in the cup-bearer's mind. With a
desperate effort, Kenkenes choked the first desire to laugh that had
seized him in months.
"Nay, let it pass, Nechutes," he said in a strained voice.
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