Here that night Khian slept better than he had done since, many months before, wearing Nefra’s betrothal ring upon his finger, he had left this spot to return to Tanis and make report of his mission to Apepi.
On the following morning, while it was still quite dark, Ru entered his tent and assisted him to rise. Then he set him in a litter in which Khian, asking no questions, was borne across the sands till they came to a great shape outlined against the starry sky, which he knew to be that of the Sphinx. Here he descended from the litter, which departed, leaving him alone.
At length the dawn began to break and in its tender light he saw that he was not alone, for by his side, wrapped in a gray cloak, stood a hooded figure that might have been that of a lad or a slender woman.
By the gods! he knew this figure: it was that of the “Young Person” who—oh! years and years ago—had guided him from the palm grove to the Sphinx and there had tied a bandage about his eyes. The height was the same, the very cloak and hood seemed to be the same.
“So, Young Person,” he said, “you still ply your business of guiding travellers across the sands.”
“That is so, Scribe Rasa,” answered the figure in a gruff voice.
“And do you still steal their packages—or hide them? My litter I think has gone.”
“I still take that which I desire, Scribe Rasa, who must live and be happy if I can.”
“And do you still blindfold messengers?”
“Yes, Scribe Rasa, when it is necessary to hide secrets from them. Indeed, be pleased to suffer that I do so to you for the second time, and bide here a while alone.”