Suddenly Heraklas, attracted perhaps by the silent force that lies
in a human gaze; lifted his head from his reading, and glanced
upward. Athribis had not time to start aside. The eyes of the two
met in a long, piercing gaze! Heraklas sprang to his feet. The
papyrus fell, on the loose brick beside him.

Athribis' head vanished instantly, and Heraklas, snatching the
papyrus, wound it closely, and thrust it into his garments.

He hastily replaced the loose brick. No safe place for the papyrus
would the hole be, hereafter.

When he met Athribis afterwards in a corridor, Heraklas felt his
heart beat more quickly against the hidden roll. But the lad was
stern in outward semblance.

"Athribis!" he said.

The slave bent before the lad.

"How wast thou where I saw thee?" demanded Heraklas.

"I was attending to the salted quail. Thou knowest they are drying
on the roof," explained Athribis, meekly.

Heraklas felt compelled to accept the excuse. There were quail
drying, according to the custom of lower Egypt.

"But what was it that I read in his face, as he looked down at me?"
Heraklas asked himself.