"Four hundred," replied the physician.
Horus sank into pondering, and . . . the decree concerning the mortal remains of Zefora fell.
"Three hundred . . ."
The same fate befel the edict concerning the recall of Jetron from banishment.
"Two hundred. . ."
The lips of Horus grew livid. With clenched hand he flung to the ground the edict by which the tongues of prisoners taken into captivity were not to be torn out, and there remained only . . . the decree for the liberation of Berenice.
"A hundred. . ."
Amid the deathly stillness could be heard the clatter of sandals. Into the hall the high priest's deputy came running. Horus stretched forth his hand.
"A miracle," cried the newcomer. "Mighty Rameses has regained his health . . . he has risen up alertly from bis couch and at sunrise he desires to ride forth for lions. . . Thee, however, O Horus, as a token of favour, he summons to accompany him. . ."
"Dost thou not answer, O Horus?" questioned the envoy of Rameses, marvelling.
"Seest thou not that he has died?" whispered the wisest physician of Carnac.
Behold now, how vain are human hopes before the decrees which the Omnipotent has inscribed with fiery signs upon the heavens.
