I will confess that I, the priest Nebsecht, commanded you to take the heart, and that your guilt is mine." "Let me have the writing then," murmured the old man.
The physician wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and gave the paraschites his hand.

"To-morrow you shall have it," he said, "and I will not leave your granddaughter till she is well again." The soldier engaged in cutting up the ram, had heard nothing of this conversation.

Now he ran a wooden spit through the legs, and held them over the fire to roast them.

The jackals howled louder as the smell of the melting fat filled the air, and the old man, as he looked on, forgot the terrible task he had undertaken.

For a year past, no meat had been tasted in his house.
The physician Nebsecht, himself eating nothing but a piece of bread, looked on at the feasters.