rincely person was barely visible for the pair of
feather fans borne by attendants that walked beside him. Through
continuous cheering he passed on. Seti, the younger, followed, driving
alone. His eyes wandered in pleased wonder over the multitude which
howled itself hoarse for him.

Close behind him was a chariot of ebony drawn by two plunging,
coal-black horses. A robust Egyptian, who shifted from one foot to the
other and talked to his horses continually, drove therein alone. As he
approached, the Hebrew woman raised herself so suddenly that one of the
nervous animals side-stepped affrighted. The swaggering Egyptian, with
a muttered curse, struck at her with his whip. The four bearers sprang
forward, but she quieted them with a few words in Hebrew. Reentering
her litter she was borne away, while the Thebans were still lost in the
delights of the procession.

In the few strange words of the woman of Israel, Kenkenes had caught
the name of Har-hat. This then was the bearer of the king's fan--this
insulter of age and womanhood. And the words of Mentu seemed very
fitting,--"I like him not."

The Thebans were in raptures. The splendors of the pageant had far
surpassed their expectations. Priests, soldiers and officials came in
companies, rank upon rank, of exalted and ornate dignity. Chariots and
horses shone with gilding, polished metal and gay housings, while the
marching legions clanked with pike and blade and shield. Now that the
chief luminaries of the procession had passed, the rich and lofty
departed with a great show of indifference to the rest of the parade.
But the humbler folk, all unlearned in the art of assumption, had not
reached that nice point of culture, and lingered to see the last
foot-soldier pass.

Kenkenes, urged by his mission, was departing with the rich and lofty,
when his attention was attracted by the chief leading the section of
royal scribes now passing. His was a compact, plump figure, amply
robed in sheeny linen, and he balanced himself skilfully in his light
shell of a chariot, which bumped over the uneven pavement. He was not
a brilliant mark in the long parade, but something other than his mere
appearance made him conspicuous. Behind him, walking at a respectful
distance, was his corps of subordinates--all mature, many of them aged,
but the years of their chief were fewer than those of the youngest
among them. From the center of the crowd his face appeared boyish, an