e chamber of guests
to the front, and the property wall to the rear, was a court of
uncommon beauty. Palm and tamarisk, acacia and rose-shrub, jasmine and
purple mimosa made a multi-tinted jungle about a shadowy pool in which
a white heron stood knee-deep. There were long stretches of sunlit
sod, and walks of inlaid tile, seats of carved stone, and a single
small obelisk, set on a circular slab, marked with measures for
time--the Egyptian sun-dial. On every side were evidences of wealth
and luxury.

So Mentu labored because he loved to toil. In a land languorous with
tropical inertia, an enthusiastic toiler is not common. For this
reason, Mentu was worth particular attention. He towered a palm in
height over his Egyptian brethren, and his massive frame was entirely
in keeping with his majestic stature. He was nearly fifty years of
age, but no sign of the early decay of the Oriental was apparent in
him. His was the characteristic refinement of feature that marks the
Egyptian countenance, further accentuated by self-content and some
hauteur. The idea of dignity was carried out in his dress. The kilt
was not visible, for the kamis had become a robe, long-sleeved,
high-necked and belted with a broad band of linen, encompassing the
body twice, before it was fastened with a fibula of massive gold.

That he was an artisan noble was another peculiarity, but it was proof
of exceptional merit. He had descended from a long line of royal
sculptors, heightening in genius in the last three. His grandsire had
elaborated Karnak; his father had decorated the Rameseum, but Mentu had
surpassed the glory of his ancestors. In the years of his youth, side
by side with the great Rameses, he had planned and brought to
perfection the mightiest monument to Egyptian sculpture, the
rock-carved temple of Ipsambul. In recognition of this he had been
given to wife a daughter of the Pharaoh and raised to a rank never
before occupied by a king's sculptor. He was second only to the
fan-bearers, the most powerful nobles of the realm, and at par with the
market, or royal architect, who was usually chosen from among the
princes. And yet he had but come again to his own when he entered the
ranks of peerage. In the long line of his ancestors he counted a king,
and from that royal sire he had his stature.

He sat before a table covered with tools of his craft, rolls of
papyrus, pens of reeds, pots of ink of various colors, horns of oil,
m