ke the celestial gods."

Up to this point Nefert had fixed her large eyes on the sky, like a
glorified soul; but now her gaze fell, and she said softly--

"But the Cheta

[An Aramaean race, according to Schrader's excellent judgment. At
the time of our story the peoples of western Asia had allied
themselves to them.]

disturbed our happiness, for the king took Mena with him to the war.
Fifteen times did the moon, rise upon our happiness, and then--"

"And then the Gods heard my prayer, and accepted my offerings," said
Paaker, with a trembling voice, "and tore the robber of my joys from you,
and scorched your heart and his with desire. Do you think you can tell me
anything I do not know? Once again for fifteen days was Mena yours, and
now he has not returned again from the war which is raging hotly in
Asia."

"But he will return," cried the young wife.

"Or possibly not," laughed Paaker. "The Cheta, carry sharp weapons, and
there are many vultures in Lebanon, who perhaps at this hour are tearing
his flesh as he tore my heart."

Nefert rose at these words, her sensitive spirit bruised as with stones
thrown by a brutal hand, and attempted to leave her shady refuge to
follow the princess into the house of the parascllites; but her feet
refused to bear her, and she sank back trembling on her stone seat. She
tried to find words, but her tongue was powerless. Her powers of
resistance forsook her in her unutterable and soul-felt
distress--heart-wrung, forsaken and provoked.

A variety of painful sensations raised a hot vehement storm in her bosom,
which checked her breath, and at last found relief in a passionate and
convulsive weeping that shook her whole body. She saw nothing more, she
heard nothing more, she only shed tears and felt herself miserable.

Paaker stood over her in silence.

There are trees in the tropics, on which white blossoms hang close by the
withered fruit, there are days when the pale moon shows itself near the
clear bright sun;--and it is given to the soul of man to feel love and
hatred, both at the same time, and to direct both to the same end.

Nefert's tears fell as dew, her sobs as manna on the soul of Paaker,
which hungered and thirsted for revenge. Her pain was joy to him, and yet
the sight of her beauty filled him with passion, his gaze lingered
spell-bound on her graceful form; he would have given all the bliss of
heaven once, only once, to hold her in his arms--once, only o