thou hast not
brought back the other with thee, who tormented me with his vows."

"You mean blind Teta," said Nebsecht, "he will not come again; but the
young priest who soothed your father, when he repulsed the princess, will
visit you. He is kindly disposed, and you should--you should--"

"Pentaur will come?" said the girl eagerly.

"Before midday. But how do you know his name?"

"I know him," said Uarda decidedly.

The surgeon looked at her surprised.

"You must not talk any more," he said, "for your cheeks are glowing, and
the fever may return. We have arranged a tent for you, and now we will
carry you into the open air."

"Not yet," said the girl. "Grandmother, do my hair for me, it is so
heavy."

With these words she endeavored to part her mass of long reddish-brown
hair with her slender hands, and to free it from the straws that had got
entangled in it.

"Lie still," said the surgeon, in a warning voice.

"But it is so heavy," said the sick girl, smiling and showing Nebsecht
her abundant wealth of golden hair as if it were a fatiguing burden.
"Come, grandmother, and help me."

The old woman leaned over the child, and combed her long locks carefully
with a coarse comb made of grey horn, gently disengaged the straws from
the golden tangle, and at last laid two thick long plaits on her
granddaughter's shoulders.

Nebsecht knew that every movement of the wounded girl might do mischief,
and his impulse was to stop the old woman's proceedings, but his tongue
seemed spell-bound. Surprised, motionless, and with crimson cheeks, he
stood opposite the girl, and his eyes followed every movement of her
hands with anxious observation.

She did not notice him.

When the old woman laid down the comb Uarda drew a long breath.

"Grandmother," she said, "give me the mirror." The old woman brought a
shard of dimly glazed, baked clay. The girl turned to the light,
contemplated the undefined reflection for a moment, and said:

"I have not seen a flower for so long, grandmother."

"Wait, child," she replied; she took from a jug the rose, which the
princess had laid on the bosom of her grandchild, and offered it to her.
Before Uarda could take it, the withered petals fell, and dropped upon
her. The surgeon stooped, gathered them up, and put them into the child's
hand.

"How good you are!" she said; "I am called Uarda--like this flower--and I
love roses and the fresh air. Will you carry me out now?"

Nebsecht ca