Part 36 (1/2)

Kenkenes kissed her hand. ”And wilt thou say that to Nechutes and put him in the highest heaven?”

”Already have I wished him well,” she responded, pretending to pout, ”but he repaid me poorly.”

”Nay! What did he?”

”Begged me to become his wife.”

”And having given him the span, thou didst yield him the cubit also when he asked it?” he surmised.

”Nay, not yet. But--shall I?” she lifted her face and looked at him, smiling and bewitchingly beautiful. Her eyes dared him; her lips invited him; all her charms rose up and besought him. For a moment, Kenkenes was startled. If he had believed that Ta-meri loved him never so slightly, his sensations would have been most distressing.

But he knew and was glad to know that he awakened nothing deeper than a superficial partiality, which lasted only as long as he was in her sight to please her eye. In spite of his consternation, he could think intelligently enough to surmise what had inspired her words. The Lady Senci had guessed the nature of his trouble; even Menes had hinted a suspicion of the truth in a bantering way. What would prevent the beauty from seeing it also and preempting to herself the honors of his disheartenment? But he was in no mood for a coquettish tilt with her.

His sober face was not more serious than his tone when he made answer:

”Do not play with him, Ta-meri. He is worthy and loves thee most tenderly. Thou lovest him. Be kind to thine own heart and put him to the rack no more. Thou art sure of him and I doubt not it pleases thee to tantalize thyself a little while; but Nechutes, who must endure the lover's doubts, is suffering cruelly. Thou art a good child, Ta-meri; how canst thou hurt him so?”

He paused, for her eyes, growing remorseful, had wandered away from him. He knew he had reasoned well. The guests in the banquet-room began to emerge, talking and laughing. The voice of Nechutes was not heard among them. Kenkenes glanced toward the group and saw the cup-bearer a trifle in advance, his sullen face averted.

”He comes yonder,” Kenkenes added in a whisper, ”poor, moody boy! Go back to him and take him all the happiness I would to the G.o.ds I knew.

Farewell.”

He pressed her hand and continued toward the door.

Once again he was hailed, this time by Rameses. He halted, stifling a groan, and returned to the prince. Nechutes and Ta-meri had disappeared.

”One other thing, I would tell thee, Kenkenes,” the prince said, ”and then thou mayest go. The Pharaoh heard a song to the sunrise on the Nile some time ago and I identified the voice for him. He would have thee sing for him, Kenkenes.”

”The Pharaoh's wish is law,” was the slow answer.

”Oh, it was not a command,” Rameses replied affably, for he was still holding Masanath's hand and therefore in high good humor with himself.

”In truth he said the choice should be thine whether thou wilt or not.

He would not insist that a n.o.bleman become his minstrel. But more of this later; the G.o.ds go with thee.”

Kenkenes bowed and escaped.

In his room a few moments later, he lighted his lamp of scented oils and contemplated the comforts about him. His conscience pointed a condemning finger at him. Here was luxury to the point of uselessness for himself; across the Nile was the desolate quarry-camp for his love.

In Memphis he had robed himself in fine linen and reveled, had eaten with princes and slept sumptuously--in his strength and his manhood and unearned idleness. And she, but a tender girl, had toiled for the quarry-workers and fasted and now faced death in the hideous extermination purposed for her race.

He ground his teeth and prayed for the dawn.

He forgot that he had come away from the Arabian hills because she repelled him; he remembered his scruples concerning their social inequality, only to revile himself; Hotep's caution was more than ever a waste of words to him. He forgot everything except that he was here in comfort, she, there in want and in peril, and he had not rescued her.

He did not sleep. He tossed and counted the hours.

”Sing for the Pharaoh!” he exclaimed, ”aye, I will sing till the throat of me cracks--not for the reward of his good will alone, but for Rachel's liberty. That first, and the unraveling of this puzzle thereafter.”

CHAPTER XVIII