Not far from the city of Pi-Bast stood the temple of the goddess Hator. In the month Paoni (March-April), on the day of the vernal equinox, about nine in the evening, when the star Sirius inclined toward its setting, two wayfaring priests and one penitent stopped in the gateway. The penitent, who was barefoot, had ashes on his head, and was covered with a coarse cloth which concealed his visage. Though the air was clear, it was impossible to distinguish the faces of those wayfarers. They stood in the shadow of two immense statues of the cow-headed divinity which guarded the entrance to the temple and with kindly eyes protected the province of Habu from pestilence, southern winds, and bad overflows. When he had rested somewhat, the penitent fell with his face to the earth and prayed long in that position. Then he rose, took a copper knocker, and struck a blow. A deep metallic sound went through all the courts, reverberated from the thick walls of the temple, and flew over the wheat-fields, above the mud cottages of earth-tillers, over the silvery waters of the Nile, where the faint cry of wakened birds answered it. After a long time a murmur was heard inside, and the question,-- "Who rouses us?" "Rameses, a slave of the divinity," said the penitent. "For what hast thou come?" "For the light of wisdom." "What right hast them to ask for it?" "I received the inferior consecration, and in great processions within the temple I carry a torch." The gates opened widely. In the centre stood a priest in a white robe; he stretched forth his hand, and said slowly and distinctly,-- "Enter. When thou crossest this threshold, may divine peace dwell in thy soul, and may that be accomplished for which thou implorest humbly." When the penitent had fallen at his feet, the priest, making some signs above his head, whispered,-- "In the name of Him who is, who has been, and who will be, who created everything, whose breath fills the visible and the invisible world, and who is life eternal." When the gate had closed, the priest took Rameses by the hand, and in the gloom amid the immense columns of the forecourt he led him to the dwelling assigned to him. It was a small cell lighted by a lamp. On the stone pavement lay a bundle of dry grass; in a corner stood a pitcher of water, and near it was a barley cake. "I see that here I shall have rest indeed after my occupations with the nomarchs," said Rameses, joyously. "Think of eternity," replied the priest; and he withdrew. This answer struck Rameses disagreeably. Though he was hungry, he did not wish to eat a cake or drink water. He sat on the grass, and looking at his feet wounded from the journey, asked himself why he had come, why he had put himself voluntarily out of his office.