Meneptah turned his troubled eyes hurriedly toward the east. He must not miss the sunrise. At that moment, unheralded, the disk of the sun shot above the horizon as if blown from a crater of the under-world--blurred, milky-white, without warmth. He turned away and faced Nechutes, bending before him; behind the cup-bearer, a stately stranger--Kenkenes. "A message for thee, O Son of Ptah," Nechutes said. At a sign from the king, the messenger came forward, knelt and delivered the scroll. The king looked at the writing on the wrapping. "From whom dost thou bring this?" he asked. "From Jambres, the mystic, O Son of Ptah." "Ah!" It was the tone of one who has his surmises proved. "Now, what is contained herein?" Kenkenes took it that the inquiry called for an answer. "A warning, O King." "How dost thou know?" "The purport of the message was told me ere I departed." "Wherefore? It is not common to lead the messenger into the secret he bears." "I know, O Son of Ptah," Kenkenes replied quietly; "but the messenger who knew its contents would suffer not disaster or death to stay him in carrying it to thee." As if to delay the reading of it, the king dismissed Nechutes and signed Kenkenes to arise. Then he turned the scroll over and over in his hands, inspecting it. "Age does not cool the fever of retaliation," he said thoughtfully, "and this ancient Jambres hath a grudge against me. Come," he exclaimed as if an idea had struck him, "do thou open it." Kenkenes took the scroll thrust toward him, and ripped off the linen wrapping. Unrolling the writing he extended it to the king. "And there is naught in it of evil intent?" Meneptah asked, putting his hands behind him. "Nay, my King; naught but great love and concern for thee." "Read it," was the next command. "Mine eyes are dim of late," he added apologetically, for, through the young man's reassuring tones, a faint realization of the trepidation he had exhibited began to dawn on Meneptah. Kenkenes obeyed, reading without emphasis or inflection, for he knew no expression was needed to convey the force of the message to the already intimidated king. When Kenkenes had finished, Meneptah was standing very close to him, as if assured of shelter in the heroic shadow of the tall young messenger. The color had receded from the monarch's face, and his eyes had widened till the white was visible all around the iris. "Call me the guard," he said hoarsely; but when Kenkenes made as if to obey, the king stayed him in a panic. "Nay, heed me not. Mine assassin may be among them." The sound of his own voice frightened him. "Soft," he whispered, "I may be heard." Kenkenes maintained silence, for he was not yet ready. Meanwhile, the king turned hither and thither, essayed to speak and cautiously refrained, grew paler of face and wider of eye, panted, trembled and broke out recklessly at last.