It was very hot, down in the deep-buried corridor, and though Sitah was accustomed to the heat, he soon found his eyelids drooping and his whole body crying out for sleep. But he did not go to sleep. He knew too well what would befall him in Aten's hands if he did. He had seen many old men and women die in those hands, on ceremony days--old people who croaked in helpless agony as the keen knife blade dropped slowly down toward them, paused a second, inches from their hearts, and then plunged in with a rush. Old men and women, useless, their years of service gone. Yes, and many unwanted girl children.... That was what the Sun God demanded. His hands reached ever for human bodies. It was cruel, but he was a god; and who was to question the will of a god? * * * * * Sitah was very glad when, after six hours of lonely vigil, another guard relieved him and took his place outside the dark hole. Sitah spoke humorously to him, a grim kind of humor, as befitting one who has seen much death. "They sleep, Hapu," he said, nodding into the prison. "But soon a longer sleep will come for them--the sleep of the knife!" He chuckled as he made his way far below, to his bed. A few hours of rest and he would be in fine fettle for the ceremony. The relieving guard grunted and peered into the cell. He saw two dark figures outstretched, mere blobs of black, a little blacker than the shadows. Yes, they slept.... He sat down on the bench Sitah had just vacated. He had four hours to wait. Then the priests, led by Hrihor, would come, and the ceremony would begin, and the god's hands would move together. It would be a fine show! He looked forward to it keenly. It would be delicious to see that girl Taia bared to the knife. It would please the god: seldom did his hands hold such a beautiful sacrifice. And the queer stranger, too--he would probably die very noisily. When he saw the knife sliding down, he would regret his blasphemy and shriek for forgiveness! For along time Hapu sat quite motionless. He was a good watchdog. Hours passed; his vigil was nearing its end; the priests would soon come. Soon-- A slight noise came from the cell behind him. He whirled around. The noise came again, louder. A voice cried out. "Water! Water! I am dying!" Hapu grunted. It was the stranger's voice. The stranger must not die; it would spoil the ceremony; Aten would be wroth. He stared into the hole. One of the figures was tossing, writhing painfully. The agonized cry echoed again. "Water! Please! I am dying!" Hapu strode into the cell. For a moment he stood still, peering down at the tossing figure. His brain suddenly shouted alarm. This was no human body! "What--" he began. But the question was never finished. Something hard crashed into the back of his skull; his spear dropped with a clank, and he slumped to the floor. * * * * *