"What wilt thou do with it when it is done?"
"I have left no mark of myself upon it."
"Nay, but the priesthood can scent out a blasphemer as a hound scents a jackal."
"Thou wilt not betray me, Hotep; I shall not publish myself, and the other—the only other who possesses my secret—the Israelite, who was my model, is fidelity's self. I would trust her with my soul."
"An Israelite! Thy nation's most active foe at this hour!"
"She is no enemy to me, Hotep."
Slowly the scribe's eyes traveled from the face of Athor to the face of Kenkenes. The young sculptor turned away and leaned against the great cube that walled one side of the niche. He was not prepared to meet his friend's discerning eyes. Hotep surveyed him critically. A momentous surmise forced itself upon him. He went to Kenkenes and, laying an affectionate arm across his shoulder, leaned not lightly thereon.
"Thou hast said, O my Kenkenes, that I should understand thy meaning when thou spakest mysteriously a while agone. May I not know, now? Thou didst plead offense to Athor and didst boast her pardon. Later thou calledst her thy confederate. And earliest of all, thou didst confess to asking favor of her. How may all these things be?"
"Look thou," Kenkenes began at once. "On one hand, I have my new belief concerning sculpture—on the other, the beliefs of my fathers. I practise the first and make propitiation for the second. No harm hath overtaken me. Am I not pardoned? Furthermore, Athor is beauty, and beauty guided my hand in creating this statue. Therefore, Athor being beauty, Athor was my confederate. Is it not lucid, O Son of Wisdom?"
Hotep laughed. "Nay, thou wilt not prosper, Kenkenes. Thou servest two masters. But there is one thing still unexplained—the favor of Athor."