For a moment Menon stood irresolute, then, as he began to speak again, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, turning, he looked into the eyes of Memetis the Egyptian, a youth whom he loved as he might have loved his mother's son, but who now refused his greeting coldly, spurning the proffered hand and placing his own behind his back.
"How now," asked Menon, "is this the manner of Memetis to his friends?"
"Nay," returned Memetis, frowning as he spoke; "true friends I greet in love and tenderness; the false may rest with Hathor ere I take their hands."
Then it came upon Menon that Memetis and Sozana knew of the mandate of the King, and were bitter in their thoughts of one who came between them and their happiness.
"Memetis," the Assyrian asked, "is it, then, to the walls of Zariaspa that thine eyes are turned, fearing lest a friend hath juggled with thy trust as a traitor might?"
The Egyptian's black eyes glowed in anger which he vainly strove to check, while his fingers played about the hilt of a dagger at his belt.
"Aye," he answered bitterly, "to the walls of Zariaspa do I turn mine eyes, for with their fall falls every hope which Isis dangled before my foolish heart. And thou!" he cried, "the false! The treacherous! who would tear Sozana from mine arms, aye, even as the hawk would swoop upon a nest of doves!"
Menon strove to speak, but the Egyptian would not harken to his words. The Assyrian faced Sozana, stretching forth his hand, but Memetis sprang between them, drawing his dagger, and in a low, fierce whisper spoke his wrath:
"Lay but a finger on this maid, or speak her name again, and as Osiris liveth, will I take thy life!"
Menon looked into the lover's eyes, and slowly spread his arms.