"We have been looking for a mystery, and
we certainly seem to have found one."
"What do I make of it? Why, that your poor dear father was off his head,
of course," I answered, testily. "I guessed as much that night, twenty
years ago, when he came into my room. You see he evidently hurried his
own end, poor man. It is absolute balderdash."
"That's it, sir!" said Job, solemnly. Job was a most matter-of-fact
specimen of a matter-of-fact class.
"Well, let's see what the potsherd has to say, at any rate," said Leo,
taking up the translation in his father's writing, and commencing to
read:--
"_I, Amenartas, of the Royal House of the Pharaohs of Egypt, wife of
Kallikrates (the Beautiful in Strength), a Priest of Isis whom the
gods cherish and the demons obey, being about to die, to my little son
Tisisthenes (the Mighty Avenger). I fled with thy father from Egypt in
the days of Nectanebes,[*] causing him through love to break the vows
that he had vowed. We fled southward, across the waters, and we wandered
for twice twelve moons on the coast of Libya (Africa) that looks towards
the rising sun, where by a river is a great rock carven like the head
of an Ethiopian.
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