"Thou and I
are friends. But lead me to the king, I pray thee."
"To the king?" the cup-bearer repeated doubtfully. "The king sleeps.
Will thine interests go to wreck if thou bidest till dawn?"
"I carry him a message," Kenkenes explained.
"A message!"
"Even so. Hand hither a torch."
A soldier went and returned with a flaming knot of pitch. In the
wavering light of the flambeau, Nechutes read the address on the linen
scroll.
"The king could not read by the night-lights," he said after a little.
"Much weeping is not helpful to such feeble eyes as his. Wait till
dawn. My tent is empty and my bed is soft. Wait till daybreak as my
guest."
"Where is Har-hat?"
"In his tent, yonder," pointing to a party-colored pavilion.
"Dost thou keep an unsleeping eye on the Pharaoh?"
"By night, aye."
Kenkenes had a thought to accept the cup-bearer's hospitality. He knew
that the expected climax would follow immediately upon the king's
perusal of the message, and that the nature of that climax depended
upon himself. He needed mental vigor and bodily freshness to make
effective the work before him. His cogitations decided him.
"Let the unhappy king sleep, then, Nechutes; far be it from me to bring
him back to the memory of his sorrows.
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