she had been twining wreaths for her
loved dead and the lotus flowers, larkspurs, mallow and willow-leaves,
from which she was to weave them, had been brought there by her desire.
They were lying on a small table and in her lap; but she felt paralyzed,
and the hand she stretched toward them refused to obey her will.

Rui, the first prophet of Amon, an aged man long past his ninetieth
birthday, squatted on a mat at Pharaoh's left hand. A pair of bright
eyes, shaded by bushy white brows, glittered in his brown face--seamed
and wrinkled like the bark of a gnarled oaklike gay flowers amid withered
leaves, forming a strange contrast to his lean, bowed, and shrivelled
form.

The old man had long since resigned the management of business affairs to
the second prophet, Bai, but he held firmly to his honors, his seat at
Pharaoh's side, and his place in the council, where, though he said
little, his opinion was more frequently followed than that of the
eloquent, ardent second prophet, who was many years his junior.

The old man had not quitted Pharaoh's side since the plague entered the
palace, yet to-day he felt more vigorous than usual; the hot desert wind,
which weakened others, refreshed him. He was constantly shivering,
despite the panther-skin which hung over his back and shoulders, and the
heat of the day warmed his chilly old blood.

Moses, the Hebrew, had been his pupil, and never had he instructed a
nobler nature, a youth more richly endowed with all the gifts of
intellect. He had initiated the Israelite into all the highest mysteries,
anticipating the greatest results for Egypt and the priesthood, and when
the Hebrew one day slew an overseer who had mercilessly beaten one of his
race, and then fled into the desert, Rui had secretly mourned the evil
deed as if his own son had committed it and must suffer the consequences.
His intercession had secured Mesu's pardon; but when the latter returned
to Egypt and the change had occurred which other priests termed his
"apostasy," the old man had grieved even more keenly than over his
flight. Had he, Rui, been younger, he would have hated the man who had
thus robbed him of his fairest hopes; but the aged priest, who read men's
hearts like an open book and could judge the souls of his fellow-mortals
with the calm impartiality of an unclouded mind, confessed that he had
been to blame in failing to foresee his pupil's change of thought.

Education and precept had made Mesu an E