A shriek rang through the cave, and they could hear a heavy, rusty bolt drawn back, the roughly hewn door was opened, and a hoarse voice asked: "Is that Paaker ?" "No," answered the soldier, "I am Kaschta.

Do not you know me again, Nubi ?" The man thus addressed, who was Paaker's Ethiopian slave, drew back in surprise.
"Are you still alive ?" he exclaimed.

"What brings you here ?" "My lord here will tell you," answered Kaschta as he made way for Pentaur to enter the cave.

The poet went up to the black man, and the light of the fire which burned in the cave fell full on his face.
The old slave stared at him, and drew back in astonishment and terror.

He threw himself on the earth, howled like a dog that fawns at the feet of his angry master, and cried out: "He ordered it--Spirit of my master! he ordered it." Pentaur stood still, astounded and incapable of speech, till he perceived a young man, who crept up to him on his hands and feet, which were bound with thongs, and who cried to him in a tone, in which terror was mingled with a tenderness which touched Pentaur's very soul.
"Save me--Spirit of the Mohar! save me, father!" Then the poet spoke.
"I am no spirit of the dead," said he.