"It is a splendid rose! I never saw such a fine one."
"It is for my haughty princess. Do pray let me dress your hair! It is
like silk from Tyre, like a swan's breast, like golden star-beams--there,
it is fixed safely! Nay, leave it so. If the seven Hathors could see you,
they would be jealous, for you are fairer than all of them."

"How you flatter!" said Uarda, shyly blushing, and looking into his
sparkling eyes.

"Uarda," said the prince, pressing her hand to his heart. "I have now but
one wish. Feel how my heart hammers and beats. I believe it will never
rest again till you--yes, Uarda--till you let me give you one, only one,
kiss."

The girl drew back.

"Now," she said seriously. "Now I see what you want. Old Hekt knows men,
and she warned me."

"Who is Hekt, and what can she know of me?"

"She told me that the time would come when a man would try to make
friends with me. He would look into my eyes, and if mine met his, then he
would ask to kiss me. But I must refuse him, because if I liked him to
kiss me he would seize my soul, and take it from me, and I must wander,
like the restless ghosts, which the abyss rejects, and the storm whirls
before it, and the sea will not cover, and the sky will not receive,
soulless to the end of my days. Go away--for I cannot refuse you the
kiss, and yet I would not wander restless, and without a soul!"

"Is the old woman who told you that a good woman?" asked Rameri.

Uarda shook her head.

"She cannot be good," cried the prince. "For she has spoken a falsehood.
I will not seize your soul; I will give you mine to be yours, and you
shall give me yours to be mine, and so we shall neither of us be
poorer--but both richer!"

"I should like to believe it," said Uarda thoughtfully, "and I have
thought the same kind of thing. When I was strong, I often had to go late
in the evening to fetch water from the landing-place where the great
water-wheel stands. Thousands of drops fall from the earthenware pails as
it turns, and in each you can see the reflection of a moon, yet there is
only one in the sky. Then I thought to myself, so it must be with the
love in our hearts. We have but one heart, and yet we pour it out into
other hearts without its losing in strength or in warmth. I thought of my
grandmother, of my father, of little Scherau, of the Gods, and of
Pentaur. Now I should like to give you a part of it too."

"Only a part?" asked Rameri.

"Well, the whole will be reflected in you, you know," said Uarda, "as the
whole moon is reflected in each drop."

"It shall!" cried the prince, clasping the trembling girl in his arms,
and the two young souls were united in their first kiss.

"Now do go!" Uarda entreated.

"Let me stay a little while," said Rameri. "Sit down here by me on the
bench in front of the house. The hedge shelters us, and besides this
valley is now deserted, and there are no passers by."

"We are doing what is not right," said Uarda. "If it were right we should
not want to hide ourselves."

"Do you call that wrong which the priests perform in the Holy of Holies?"
asked the prince. "And yet it is concealed from all eyes."

"How you can argue!" laughed Uarda. "That shows you can write, and are
one of his disciples."

"His, his!" exclaimed Rameri. "You mean Pentaur. He was always the
dearest to me of all my teachers, but it vexes me when you speak of him
as if he were more to you than I and every one else. The poet, you said,
was one of the drops in which the moon of your soul finds a
reflection--and I will not divide it with many."

"How you are talking!" said Uarda. "Do you not honor your father, and the
Gods? I love no one else as I do you--and what I felt when you kissed
me--that was not like moon-light, but like this hot mid-day sun. When I
thought of you I had no peace. I will confess to you now, that twenty
times I looked out of the door, and asked whether my preserver--the kind,
curly-headed boy--would really come again, or whether he despised a poor
girl like me? You came, and I am so happy, and I could enjoy myself with
you to my heart's content. Be kind again--or I will pull your hair!"

"You!" cried Rameri. "You cannot hurt with your little hands, though you
can with your tongue. Pentaur is much wiser and better than I, you owe
much to him, and nevertheless I--"

"Let that rest," interrupted the girl, growing grave. "He is not a man
like other men. If he asked to kiss me, I should crumble into dust, as
ashes dried in the sun crumble if you touch them with a finger, and I
should be as much afraid of his lips as of a lion's. Though you may laugh
at it, I shall always believe that he is one of the Immortals. His own
father told me that a great wonder was shown to him the very day after
his birth. Old Hekt has often sent me to the gardener with a message to
enquire after his son, and though the man is rough he is kind. At first
he was not friendly, but when he saw how much I liked his flowers he grew
fond of me, and set me to work to tie wreaths and bunches, and to carry
them to his customers. As we sat together, laying the flowers side by
side, he constantly told me something about his son, and his beauty and
goodness and wisdom. When he was quite a little boy he could write poems,
and he learned to read before any one had shown him how. The high-priest
Ameni heard of it and took him to the House of Seti, and there he
improved, to the astonishment of the gardener; not long ago I went
through the garden with the old man. He talked of Pentaur as usual, and
then stood still before a noble shrub with broad leaves, and said, My son
is like this plant, which has grown up close to me, and I know not how. I
laid the seed in the soil, with others that I bought over there in
Thebes; no one knows where it came from, and yet it is my own. It
certainly is not a native of Egypt; and is not Pentaur as high above me
and his mother and his brothers, as this shrub is above the other
flowers? We are all small and bony, and he is tall and slim; our skin is
dark and his is rosy; our speech is hoarse, his as sweet as a song. I
believe he is a child of the Gods that the Immortals have laid in my
homely house. Who knows their decrees?' And then I often saw Pentaur at
the festivals, and asked myself which of the other priests of the temple
came near him in height and dignity? I took him for a God, and when I saw
him who saved my life overcome a whole mob with superhuman strength must
I not regard him as a superior Being? I look up to him as to one of them;
but I could never look in his eyes as I do in yours. It would not make my
blood flow faster, it would freeze it in my veins. How can I say what I
mean! my soul looks straight out, and it finds you; but to find him it
must look up to the heavens. You are a fresh rose-garland with which I
crown myself--he is a sacred persea-tree before which I bow."

Rameri listened to her in silence, and then said, "I am still young, and
have done nothing yet, but the time shall come in which you shall look up
to me too as to a tree, not perhaps a sacred tree, but as to a sycamore
under whose shade we love to rest. I am no longer gay; I will leave you
for I have a serious duty to fulfil. Pentaur is a complete man, and I
will be one too. But you shall be the rose-garland to grace me. Men who
can be compared to flowers disgust me!"

The prince rose, and offered Uarda his hand.

"You have a strong hand," said the girl. "You will be a noble man, and
work for good and great ends; only look, my fingers are quite red with
being held so tightly. But they too are not quite useless. They have
never done anything very hard certainly, but what they tend flourishes,
and grandmother says they are 'lucky.' Look at the lovely lilies and the
pomegrenate bush in that corner. Grandfather brought the earth here from
the Nile, Pentaur's father gave me the seeds, and each little plant that
ventured to show a green shoot through the soil I sheltered and nursed
and watered, though I had to fetch the water in my little pitcher, till
it was vigorous, and thanked me with flowers. Take this pomegranate
flower. It is the first my tree has borne; and it is very strange, when
the bud first began to lengthen and swell my grandmother said, 'Now your
heart will soon begin to bud and love.' I know now what she meant, and
both the first flowers belong to you--the red one here off the tree, and
the other, which you cannot see, but which glows as brightly as this
does."

Rameri pressed the scarlet blossom to his lips, and stretched out his
hand toward Uarda; but she shrank back, for a little figure slipped
through an opening in the hedge.

It was Scherau.

His pretty little face glowed with his quick run, and his breath was
gone. For a few minutes he tried in vain for words, and looked anxiously
at the prince.

Uarda saw that something unusual agitated him; she spoke to him kindly,
saying that if he wished to speak to her alone he need not be afraid of
Rameri, for he was her best friend.

"But it does not concern you and me," replied the child, "but the good,
holy father Pentaur, who was so kind to me, and who saved your life."

"I am a great friend of Pentaur," said the prince. "Is it not true,
Uarda? He may speak with confidence before me."

"I may?" said Scherau, "that is well. I have slipped away; Hekt may come
back at any moment, and if she sees that I have taken myself off I shall
get a beating and nothing to eat."

"Who is this horrible Hekt?" asked Rameri indignantly.

"That Uarda can tell you by and by," said the little one hurriedly. "Now
only listen. She laid me on my board in the cave, and threw a sack over
me, and first came Nemu, and then another man, whom she spoke to as
Steward. She talked to him a long time. At first I did not listen, but
then I caught the name of Pentaur, and I got my head out, and now I
understand it all. The steward declared that the good Pentaur was wicked,
and stood in his way, and he said that Ameni was going to send him to the
quarries at Chennu, but that that was much too small a punishment. Then
Hekt advised him to give a secret commission to the captain of the ship
to go beyond Chennu, to the frightful mountain-mines, of which she has
often told me, for her father and her brother were tormented to death
there."

"None ever return from thence," said the prince. "But go on."

"What came next, I only half understood, but they spoke of some drink
that makes people mad. Oh! what I see and hear!--I would he contentedly
on my board all my life long, but all else is too horrible--I wish that I
were dead."

And the child began to cry bitterly.

Uarda, whose cheeks had turned pale, patted him affectionately; but
Rameri exclaimed:

"It is frightful! unheard of! But who was the steward? did you not hear
his name? Collect yourself, little man, and stop crying. It is a case of
life and death. Who was the scoundrel? Did she not name him? Try to
remember."

Scherau bit his red lips, and tried for composure. His tears ceased, and
suddenly he exclaimed, as he put his hand into the breast of his ragged
little garment: "Stay, perhaps you will know him again--I made him!"

"You did what?" asked the prince.

"I made him," repeated the little artist, and he carefully brought out an
object wrapped up in a scrap of rag, "I could just see his head quite
clearly from one side all the time he was speaking, and my clay lay by
me. I always must model something when my mind is excited, and this time
I quickly made his face, and as the image was successful, I kept it about
me to show to the master when Hekt was out."

While he spoke he had carefully unwrapped the figure with trembling
fingers, and had given it to Uarda.

"Ani!" cried the prince. "He, and no other! Who could have thought it!
What spite has he against Pentaur? What is the priest to him?"

For a moment he reflected, then he struck his hand against his forehead.

"Fool that I am!" he exclaimed vehemently. "Child that I am! of course,
of course; I see it all. Ani asked for Bent-Anat's hand, and she--now
that I love you, Uarda, I understand what ails her. Away with deceit! I
will tell you no more lies, Uarda. I am no page of honor to Bent-Anat; I
am her brother, and king Rameses' own son. Do not cover your face with
your hands, Uarda, for if I had not seen your mother's jewel, and if I
were not only a prince, but Horus himself, the son of Isis, I must have
loved you, and would not have given you up. But now other things have to
be done besides lingering with you; now I will show you that I am a man,
now that Pentaur is to be saved. Farewell, Uarda, and think of me!"

He would have hurried off, but Scherau held him by the robe, and said
timidly: Thou sayst thou art Rameses' son. Hekt spoke of him too. She
compared him to our moulting hawk."

"She shall soon feel the talons of the royal eagle," cried Rameri. "Once
more, farewell!"

He gave Uarda his hand, she pressed it passionately to her lips, but he
drew it away, kissed her forehead, and was gone.

The maiden looked after him pale and speechless. She saw another man
hastening towards her, and recognizing him as her father, she went
quickly to meet him. The soldier had come to take leave of her, he had to
escort some prisoners.

"To Chennu?" asked Uarda.

"No, to the north," replied the man.

His daughter now related what she had heard, and asked whether he could
help the priest, who had saved her.

"If I had money, if I had money!" muttered the soldier to himself.

"We have some," cried Uarda; she told him of Nebsecht's gift, and said:
"Take me over the Nile, and in two hours you will have enough to make a
man rich.

[It may be observed that among the Egyptian women were qualified to
own and dispose of property. For example a papyrus (vii) in the
Louvre contains an agreement between Asklepias (called Semmuthis),
the daughter or maid-servant of a corpse-dresser of Thebes, who is
the debtor, and Arsiesis, the creditor, the son of a kolchytes; both
therefore are of the same rank as Uarda.]

But no; I cannot leave my sick grandmother. You yourself take the ring,
and remember that Pentaur is being punished for having dared to protect
us."

"I remember it," said the soldier. "I have but one life, but I will
willingly give it to save his. I cannot devise schemes, but I know
something, and if it succeeds he need not go to the gold-mines. I will
put the wine-flask aside--give me a drink of water, for the next few
hours I must keep a sober head."

"There is the water, and I will pour in a mouthful of wine. Will you come
back and bring me news?"

"That will not do, for we set sail at midnight, but if some one returns
to you with the ring you will know that what I propose has succeeded."

Uarda went into the hut, her father followed her; he took leave of his
sick mother and of his daughter. When they went out of doors again, he
said: "You have to live on the princess's gift till I return, and I do
not want half of the physician's present. But where is your pomegranate
blossom?"

"I have picked it and preserved it in a safe place."

"Strange things are women!" muttered the bearded man; he tenderly kissed
his child's forehead, and returned to the Nile down the road by which he
had come.

The prince meanwhile had hurried on, and enquired in the harbor of the
Necropolis where the vessel destined for Chennu was lying--for the ships
loaded with prisoners were accustomed to sail from this side of the
river, starting at night. Then he was ferried over the river, and
hastened to Bent-Anat. He found her and Nefert in unusual excitement, for
the faithful chamberlain had learned--through some friends of the king in
Ani's suite--that the Regent had kept back all the letters intended for
Syria, and among them those of the royal family.

A lord in waiting, who was devoted to the king, had been encouraged by
the chamberlain to communicate to Bent-Anat other things, which hardly
allowed any doubts as to the ambitious projects of her uncle; she was
also exhorted to be on her guard with Nefert, whose mother was the
confidential adviser of the Regent.

Bent-Anat smiled at this warning, and sent at once a message to Ani to
inform him that she was ready to undertake the pilgrimage to the
"Emerald-Hathor," and to be purified in the sanctuary of that Goddess.

She purposed sending a message to her father from thence, and if he
permitted it, joining him at the camp.

She imparted this plan to her friend, and Nefert thought any road best
that would take her to her husband.

Rameri was soon initiated into all this, and in return he told them all
he had learned, and let Bent-Anat guess that he had read her secret.

So dignified, so grave, were the conduct and the speech of the boy who
had so lately been an overhearing mad-cap, that Bent-Anat thought to
herself that the danger of their house had suddenly ripened a boy into a
man.

She had in fact no objection to raise to his arrangements. He proposed to
travel after sunset, with a few faithful servants on swift horses as far
as Keft, and from thence ride fast across the desert to the Red Sea,
where they could take a Phoenician ship, and sail to Aila. From thence
they would cross the peninsula of Sinai, and strive to reach the Egyptian
army by forced marches, and make the king acquainted with Ani's criminal
attempts.

To Bent-Anat was given the task of rescuing Pentaur, with the help of the
faithful chamberlain.

Money was fortunately not wanting, as the high treasurer was on their
side. All depended on their inducing the captain to stop at Chennu; the
poet's fate would there, at the worst, be endurable. At the same time, a
trustworthy messenger was to be sent to the governor of Chennu,
commanding him in the name of the king to detain every ship that might
pass the narrows of Chennu by night, and to prevent any of the prisoners
that had been condemned to the quarries from being smuggled on to
Ethiopia.

Rameri took leave of the two women, and he succeeded in leaving Thebes
unobserved.

Bent-Anat knelt in prayer before the images of her mother in Osiris, of
Hathor, and of the guardian Gods of her house, till the chamberlain
returned, and told her that he had persuaded the captain of the ship to
stop at Chennu, and to conceal from Ani that he had betrayed his charge.

The princess breathed more freely, for she had come to a resolution that
if the chamberlain had failed in his mission, she would cross over to the
Necropolis forbid the departure of the vessel, and in the last extremity
rouse the people, who were devoted to her, against Ani.

The following morning the Lady Katuti craved permission of the princess
to see her daughter. Bent-Anat did not show herself to the widow, whose
efforts failed to keep her daughter from accompanying the princess on her
journey, or to induce her to return home. Angry and uneasy, the indignant
mother hastened to Ani, and implored him to keep Nefert at home by force;
but the Regent wished to avoid attracting attention, and to let Bent-Anat
set out with a feeling of complete security.

"Do not be uneasy," he said. "I will give the ladies a trustworthy
escort, who will keep them at the Sanctuary of the 'Emerald-Hathor' till
all is settled. There you can deliver Nefert to Paaker, if you still like
to have him for a son-in-law after hearing several things that I have
learned. As for me, in the end I may induce my haughty niece to look up
instead of down; I may be her second love, though for that matter she
certainly is not my first."

On the following day the princess set out.

Ani took leave of her with kindly formality, which she returned with
coolness. The priesthood of the temple of Amon, with old Bek en Chunsu at
their head, escorted her to the harbor. The people on the banks shouted
Bent-Anat's name with a thousand blessings, but many insulting words were
to be heard also.

The pilgrim's Nile-boat was followed by two others, full of soldiers, who
accompanied the ladies "to protect them."

The south-wind filled the sails, and carried the little procession
swiftly down the stream. The princess looked now towards the palace of
her fathers, now towards the tombs and temples of the Necropolis. At last
even the colossus of Anienophis disappeared, and the last houses of
Thebes. The brave maiden sighed deeply, and tears rolled down her checks.
She felt as if she were flying after a lost battle, and yet not wholly
discouraged, but hoping for future victory. As she turned to go to the
cabin, a veiled girl stepped up to her, took the veil from her face, and
said: "Pardon me, princess; I am Uarda, whom thou didst run over, and to
whom thou hast since been so good. My grandmother is dead, and I am quite
alone. I slipped in among thy maid-servants, for I wish to follow thee,
and to obey all thy commands. Only do not send me away."

"Stay, dear child," said the princess, laying her hand on her hair.

Then, struck by its wonderful beauty, she remembered her brother, and his
wish to place a rose in Uarda's shining tresses.




CHAPTER XXXIV.

Two months had past since Bent-Anat's departure from Thebes, and the
imprisonment of Pentaur. Ant-Baba is the name of the valley, in the
western half of the peninsula of Sinai,

[I have described in detail the peninsula of Sinai, its history, and
the sacred places on it, in my book "Durch Gosen zum Sinai,"
published in 1872. In depicting this scenery in the present
romance, I have endeavored to reproduce the reality as closely as
possible. He who has wandered through this wonderful mountain
wilderness can never forget it. The valley now called "Laba," bore
the same name in the time of the Pharaohs.]

through which a long procession of human beings, and of beasts of burden,
wended their way.

It was winter, and yet the mid-day sun sent down glowing rays, which were
reflected from the naked rocks. In front of the caravan marched a company
of Libyan soldiers, and another brought up the rear. Each man was armed
with a dagger and battle-axe, a shield and a lance, and was ready to use
his weapons; for those whom they were escorting were prisoners from the
emerald-mines, who had been convoyed to the shores of the Red Sea to
carry thither the produce of the mines, and had received, as a
return-load, provisions which had arrived from Egypt, and which were to
be carried to the storehouses of the mountain mines. Bent and panting,
they made their way along. Each prisoner had a copper chain riveted round
his ankles, and torn rags hanging round their loins, were the only
clothing of these unhappy beings, who, gasping under the weight of the
sacks they had to carry, kept their staring eyes fixed on the ground. If
one of them threatened to sink altogether under his burden, he was
refreshed by the whip of one of the horsemen, who accompanied the
caravan. Many a one found it hard to choose whether he could best endure
the suffering of mere endurance, or the torture of the lash.

No one spoke a word, neither the prisoners nor their guards; and even
those who were flogged did not cry out, for their powers were exhausted,
and in the souls of their drivers there was no more impulse of pity than
there was a green herb on the rocks by the way. This melancholy
procession moved silently onwards, like a procession of phantoms, and the
ear was only made aware of it when now and then a low groan broke from
one of the victims.

The sandy path, trodden by their naked feet, gave no sound, the mountains
seemed to withhold their shade, the light of clay was a torment--every
thing far and near seemed inimical to the living. Not a plant, not a
creeping thing, showed itself against the weird forms of the barren grey
and brown rocks, and no soaring bird tempted the oppressed wretches to
raise their eyes to heaven.

In the noontide heat of the previous day they had started with their
loads from the harbor-creek. For two hours they had followed the shore of
the glistening, blue-green sea,

[The Red Sea--in Hebrew and Coptic the reedy sea--is of a lovely
blue green color. According to the Ancients it was named red either
from its red banks or from the Erythraeans, who were called the red
people. On an early inscription it is called "the water of the Red
country." See "Durch Gosen zum Sinai."]

then they had climbed a rocky shoulder and crossed a small plateau. They
had paused for their night's rest in the gorge which led to the mines;
the guides and soldiers lighted fires, grouped themselves round them, and
lay down to sleep under the shelter of a cleft in the rocks; the
prisoners stretched themselves on the earth in the middle of the valley
without any shelter, and shivering with the cold which suddenly succeeded
the glowing heat of the day. The benumbed wretches now looked forward to
the crushing misery of the morning's labor as eagerly as, a few hours
since, they had longed for the night, and for rest.

Lentil-broth and hard bread in abundance, but a very small quantity of
water was given to them before they started; then they set out through
the gorge, which grew hotter and hotter, and through ravines where they
could pass only one by one. Every now and then it seemed as if the path
came to an end, but each time it found an outlet, and went on--as endless
as the torment of the wayfarers.

Mighty walls of rock composed the view, looking as if they were formed of
angular masses of hewn stone piled up in rows; and of all the miners one,
and one only, had eyes for these curious structures of the ever-various
hand of Nature.

This one had broader shoulders than his companions, and his burden
Weighed on him comparatively lightly. "In this solitude," thought he,
"which repels man, and forbids his passing his life here, the Chnemu, the
laborers who form the world, have spared themselves the trouble of
filling up the seams, and rounding off the corners. How is it that Man
should have dedicated this hideous land--in which even the human heart
seems to be hardened against all pity--to the merciful Hathor? Perhaps
because it so sorely stands in need of the joy and peace which the loving
goddess alone can bestow."

"Keep the line, Huni!" shouted a driver.

The man thus addressed, closed up to the next man, the panting leech
Nebsecht. We know the other stronger prisoner. It is Pentaur, who had
been entered as Huni on the lists of mine-laborers, and was called by
that name. The file moved on; at every step the ascent grew more rugged.
Red and black fragments of stone, broken as small as if by the hand of
man, lay in great heaps, or strewed the path which led up the almost
perpendicular cliff by imperceptible degrees. Here another gorge opened
before them, and this time there seemed to be no outlet.

"Load the asses less!" cried the captain of the escort to the prisoners.
Then he turned to the soldiers, and ordered them, when the beasts were
eased, to put the extra burthens on the men. Putting forth their utmost
strength, the overloaded men labored up the steep and hardly
distinguishable mountain path.

The man in front of Pentaur, a lean old man, when half way up the
hill-side, fell in a heap under his load, and a driver, who in a narrow
defile could not reach the bearers, threw a stone at him to urge him to a
renewed effort.

The old man cried out at the blow, and at the cry--the paraschites
stricken down with stones--his own struggle with the mob--and the
appearance of Bent Anat flashed into Pentaur's memory. Pity and a sense
of his own healthy vigor prompted him to energy; he hastily snatched the
sack from the shoulders of the old man, threw it over his own, helped up
the fallen wretch, and finally men and beasts succeeded in mounting the
rocky wall.

The pulses throbbed in Pentaur's temples, and he shuddered with horror,
as he looked down from the height of the pass into the abyss below, and
round upon the countless pinnacles and peaks, cliffs and precipices, in
many-colored rocks-white and grey, sulphurous yellow, blood-red and
ominous black. He recalled the sacred lake of Muth in Thebes, round which
sat a hundred statues of the lion-headed Goddess in black basalt, each on
a pedestal; and the rocky peaks, which surrounded the valley at his feet,
seemed to put on a semblance of life and to move and open their yawning
jaws; through the wild rush of blood in his ears he fancied he heard them
roar, and the load beyond his strength which he carried gave him a
sensation as though their clutch was on his breast.

Nevertheless he reached the goal.

The other prisoners flung their loads from their shoulders, and threw
themselves down to rest. Mechanically he did the same: his pulses beat
more calmly, by degrees the visions faded from his senses, he saw and
heard once more, and his brain recovered its balance. The old man and
Nebsecht were lying beside him.

His grey-haired companion rubbed the swollen veins in his neck, and
called down all the blessings of the Gods upon his head; but the captain
of the caravan cut him short, exclaiming:

"You have strength for three, Huni; farther on, we will load you more
heavily."

"How much the kindly Gods care for our prayers for the blessing of
others!" exclaimed Nebsecht. "How well they know how to reward a good
action!"

"I am rewarded enough," said Pentaur, looking kindly at the old man. "But
you, you everlasting scoffer--you look pale. How do you feel?"

"As if I were one of those donkeys there," replied the naturalist. "My
knees shake like theirs, and I think and I wish neither more nor less
than they do; that is to say--I would we were in our stalls."

"If you can think," said Pentaur smiling, "you are not so very bad."

"I had a good thought just now, when you were staring up into the sky.
The intellect, say the priestly sages, is a vivifying breath of the
eternal spirit, and our soul is the mould or core for the mass of matter
which we call a human being. I sought the spirit at first in the heart,
then in the brain; but now I know that it resides in the arms and legs,
for when I have strained them I find thought is impossible. I am too
tired to enter on further evidence, but for the future I shall treat my
legs with the utmost consideration."

"Quarrelling again you two? On again, men!" cried the driver.

The weary wretches rose slowly, the beasts were loaded, and on went the
pitiable procession, so as to reach the mines before sunset.

The destination of the travellers was a wide valley, closed in by two
high and rocky mountain-slopes; it was called Ta Mafka by the Egyptians,
Dophka by the Hebrews. The southern cliff-wall consisted of dark granite,
the northern of red sandstone; in a distant branch of the valley lay the
mines in which copper was found. In the midst of the valley rose a hill,
surrounded by a wall, and crowned with small stone houses, for the guard,
the officers, and the overseers. According to the old regulations, they
were without roofs, but as many deaths and much sickness had occurred
among the workmen in consequence of the cold nights, they had been
slightly sheltered with palm-branches brought from the oasis of the
Alnalckites, at no great distance.

On the uttermost peak of the hill, where it was most exposed to the wind,
were the smelting furnaces, and a manufactory where a peculiar green
glass was prepared, which was brought into the market under the name of
Mafkat, that is to say, emerald. The genuine precious stone was found
farther to the south, on the western shore of the Red Sea, and was highly
prized in Egypt.

Our friends had already for more than a month belonged to the
mining-community of the Mafkat valley, and Pentaur had never learned how
it was that he had been brought hither with his companion Nebsecht,
instead of going to the sandstone quarries of Chennu.

That Uarda's father had effected this change was beyond a doubt, and the
poet trusted the rough but honest soldier who still kept near him, and
gave him credit for the best intentions, although he had only spoken to
him once since their departure from Thebes.

That was the first night, when he had come up to Pentaur, and whispered:
"I am looking after you. You will find the physician Nebsecht here; but
treat each other as enemies rather than as friends, if you do not wish to
be parted."

Pentaur had communicated the soldier's advice to Nebsecht, and he had
followed it in his own way.

It afforded him a secret pleasure to see how Pentaur's life contradicted
the belief in a just and beneficent ordering of the destinies of men; and
the more he and the poet were oppressed, the more bitter was the irony,
often amounting to extravagance, with which the mocking sceptic attacked
him.

He loved Pentaur, for the poet had in his keeping the key which alone
could give admission to the beautiful world which lay locked up in his
own soul; but yet it was easy to him, if he thought they were observed,
to play his part, and to overwhelm Pentaur with words which, to the
drivers, were devoid of meaning, and which made them laugh by the strange
blundering fashion in which he stammered them out.

"A belabored husk of the divine self-consciousness." "An advocate of
righteousness hit on the mouth." "A juggler who makes as much of this
worst of all possible worlds as if it were the best." "An admirer of the
lovely color of his blue bruises." These and other terms of invective,
intelligible only to himself and his butt, he could always pour out in
new combinations, exciting Pentaur to sharp and often witty rejoinders,
equally unintelligible to the uninitiated.

Frequently their sparring took the form of a serious discussion, which
served a double purpose; first their minds, accustomed to serious
thought, found exercise in spite of the murderous pressure of the burden
of forced labor, and secondly, they were supposed really to be enemies.
They slept in the same court-yard, and contrived, now and then, to
exchange a few words in secret; but by day Nebsecht worked in the
turquoise-diggings, and Pentaur in the mines, for the careful chipping
out of the precious stones from their stony matrix was the work best
suited to the slight physician, while Pentaur's giant-strength was fitted
for hewing the ore out of the hard rock. The drivers often looked in
surprise at his powerful strokes, as he flung his pick against the stone.

The stupendous images that in such moments of wild energy rose before the
poet's soul, the fearful or enchanting tones that rang in his spirit's
ear-none could guess at.

Usually his excited fancy showed him the form of Bent-Anat, surrounded by