hing the gate, but Pentaur stepped before him,
saying resolutely:

"You will remain here and keep the geese to-morrow, day after to-morrow,
and until I choose to pardon you." The gate-keeper looked enquiringly at
the priests. Not one moved.

"Go back into your house," said Pentaur, going closer to him.

The porter obeyed.

Pentaur locked the door of the little room, gave the key to one of the
temple-servants, and said: "Perform his duty, watch the man, and if he
escapes you will go after the geese to-morrow too. See, my friends, how
many worshippers kneel there before our altars--go and fulfil your
office. I will wait in the confessional to receive complaints, and to
administer comfort."

The priests separated and went to the votaries. Pentaur once more mounted
the steps, and sat down in the narrow confessional which was closed by a
curtain; on its wall the picture of Hatasu was to be seen, drawing the
milk of eternal life from the udders of the cow Hathor.

He had hardly taken his place when a temple-servant announced the arrival
of a veiled lady. The bearers of her litter were thickly veiled, and she
had requested to be conducted to the confession chamber. The servant
handed Pentaur a token by which the high-priest of the great temple of
Anion, on the other bank of the Nile, granted her the privilege of
entering the inner rooms of the temple with the Rechiu, and to
communicate with all priests, even with the highest of the initiated.

The poet withdrew behind a curtain, and awaited the stranger with a
disquiet that seemed to him all the more singular that he had frequently
found himself in a similar position. Even the noblest dignitaries had
often been transferred to him by Ameni when they had come to the temple
to have their visions interpreted.

A tall female figure entered the still, sultry stone room, sank on her
knees, and put up a long and absorbed prayer before the figure of Hathor.
Pentaur also, seen by no one, lifted his hands, and fervently addressed
himself to the omnipresent spirit with a prayer for strength and purity.

Just as his arms fell the lady raised her head. It was as though the
prayers of the two souls had united to mount upwards together.

The veiled lady rose and dropped her veil.

It was Bent-Anat.

In the agitation of her soul she had sought the goddess Hathor, who
guides the beating heart of woman and spins the threads which bind man
and wife.

"High mistress of heaven! many