It was a real Egyptian day, with a burning sun and a sky of intense, cloudless blue. Not a breath stirred the palm leaves, and the shadows lay purple-black against the white glare.
Little Tophra, wistfully gazing from her roof-chamber, saw the long line of the procession wind up from her father's gates, out upon the road, under the palm trees, and away towards the city, a wavy line of black and yellow, the priests of Osiris in their robes of leopard-skin; and, in their midst, the young bull, walking solemnly, proudly, as though he felt himself the centre of attention.
Hundreds of people were gathered together at Memphis for the seven-days festival in honor of Apis. The city was full, and the sun shone on splendid dresses, rich uniforms, gold and silver and jewels, glancing arms, and gilded chariots.
Through the crowds paced the Apis with his escort. His large eyes wandered
