He crossed the room and laid a trembling hand on the murket's shoulder. Instantly the great artist lifted his head and, seeing Kenkenes, leaped to his feet with a cry that was all joy.
The young man responded to the kiss of welcome with so little composure that Mentu forced him down on the bench and summoned a servant.
The old housekeeper appeared at the door, started with a suppressed cry and flung herself at her young master's feet. He raised her and touched her cheek with his lips.
"Bring me somewhat to eat and drink, Sema," he said weakly. "I have fasted, since I returned here, well-nigh four days agone."
The stiff old creature rose with a murmur half of compassion, half of promise, and went forth immediately.
The murket stood very close to his son, regarding him with interrogation on his face.
"Memphis was full of famishing at the coming of dawn this morning," he said. "For the first time in my life I knew hunger, and it is a fearsome thing, but thou—a shade from Amenti could not be ghastlier. Where hast thou been—what are thy fortunes, Kenkenes?"
"Rachel—thou knowest—" Kenkenes began, speaking with an effort.
"Aye, I know. Didst find her?"
"Aye, and lost her, even while I fought to save her!"