"O Isis," murmured Heraklas, as he lost sight of the carnelian
buckle within the waves, "I care not for thy blood! I know whose
blood hath washed away my stain."

With reverent rejoicing, he concealed his papyrus and turned
homeward.

He passed into the great city. A woman was worshiping before a
statue of the god Chonsu, the moon. Heraklas went by quickly, making
no sign of reverence. Glancing back, he saw the woman gazing after
him.

A little farther on stood a statue of Anubis. Other men, as they
passed, gave homage, but Heraklas did not turn his head toward the
idol. He noted, in the stalls and in the shops, the altars and
little idols. When he next went to purchase anything, must he do
reverence? Heraklas met a beggar and dropped a coin into his hand.

"Isis and Osiris bless thee!" wished the suppliant.

Heraklas' lips parted to answer. Should he, who had been blessed of
the Lord, seem to accept the blessing of idols? But the beggar
turned to another giver, and Heraklas hurried on his way.

Before he could reach home, a sacred procession came in sight.
Already Heraklas could plainly see the leopard-skin that fitted over
the linen robes of the Egyptian high priest who was coming. Twelve
or sixteen inferior priests walked beside the superior one. The high
priest's lock of hair, pendant on one side of his head, became more