But the Sphinx grows on one. As the light faded and the shadows softened its scarred features there came also a dignity and with it a feeling of immensity, of grandeur, a vast indifference to all puny things. And then--perhaps it was the light, perhaps it was because I stood at a particular angle, but certainly--standing just there, at that moment, I saw, or fancied I saw, about its serene lips the suggestion or beginning of a smile. The more I looked, the more certain of it I became, and when I spoke of it to Laura, she saw it, too. Yes, undoubtedly we had caught the Sphinx smiling--not outwardly, at least not openly, but quietly, quizzically--smiling inside as one might say. I could not understand it then, but later it came to me. * * * * * Back at the hotel, to-night, I thought it out. I remembered that the Sphinx had been there a long time; nobody knows how long, but _a very long time indeed_. I remembered that it had seen a number of things--_a very great number of things_. I remembered that it had seen one very curious thing, to wit: A long time ago, when a certain Pharaoh--we can only guess which Pharaoh--ruled over Egypt, it saw a young man who had been sold into bondage from Syria rise in the king's favor through certain dreams and become his chief counsellor, even "ruler over all the land of Egypt." It saw him in the height of his power and glory bring his family, who were Syrian shepherds, down from their barren hills and establish them in the favor of the Egyptian king. The Sphinx was old--a thousand years old, at least, even then--and, being wise, heard with certain curiosity their claim that they were a "chosen people," and thoughtfully watched them multiply through a few brief centuries into a band of servitors who, because of this tradition, held themselves a race apart, repeating tales of a land of promise which they would some day inherit. Then at last, during a period of visitation, the Sphinx saw them escape, taking what they could lay their hands on, straggling away, with their families and their flocks, toward the Red Sea. The Sphinx heard nothing more of that tribe for about three thousand years. Then an amazing thing happened. Among those who came to wonder at the Sphinx's age and mystery were some who repeated tales of that runaway band--tales magnified and embroidered almost beyond recognition--and, what was more curious, accepted them--not as such tales are usually accepted, with a heavy basis of discount--but as gospel; inspired truth; the foundation of a mighty religion; the word of God. Nor was that all. The Sphinx realized presently that not only were those old stories accepted as gospel by the descendants of the race themselves, but by a considerable number of the human race at large--accepted and debated in a most serious manner, even to the point of bloodshed.