roclaimed that a new Apis had been found among the
herds of the Regent Ani.

His announcement of these divine tokens had been repeated from mouth to
mouth; they were omens of peace and happiness for the country through the
means of a favorite of the Gods; and though no one said it, the dullest
could not fail to see that this favorite was none other than Ani, the
descendant of the great Hatasu, whose prophet had been graced by the
transfer to him of the heart of the sacred rain. All eyes were fixed on
Ani, who had sacrificed before all the people to the sacred heart, and
received the high-priest's blessing.

Pentaur, too, had ended his discourse when Bent-Anat reached the scene of
the festival. She heard an old man say to his son:

"Life is hard. It often seems to me like a heavy burden laid on our poor
backs by the cruel Gods; but when I heard the young priest from the House
of Seti, I felt that, after all, the Immortals are good, and we have much
to thank them for."

In another place a priest's wife said to her son:

"Could you see Pentaur well, Hor-Uza? He is of humble birth, but he
stands above the greatest in genius and gifts, and will rise to high
things."

Two girls were speaking together, and one said to the other:

"The speaker is the handsomest man I ever saw, and his voice sounds like
soft music."

"And how his eyes shone when he spoke of truth as the highest of all
virtues!" replied the other. "All the Gods, I believe, must dwell in
him."

Bent-Anat colored as these words fell on her ear. It was growing dark,
and she wished to return home but Rameri wished to follow the procession
as it marched through the western valley by torch-light, so that the
grave of his grandfather Seti should also be visited. The princess
unwillingly yielded, but it would in any case have been difficult to
reach the river while every one was rushing in the opposite direction; so
the two ladies, and Rameri, let themselves be carried along by the crowd,
and by the time the daylight was gone, they found themselves in the
western valley, where to-night no beasts of prey dared show themselves;
jackals and hyenas had fled before the glare of the torches, and the
lanterns made of colored papyrus.

The smoke of the torches mingled with the dust stirred by a thousand
feet, and the procession moved along, as it were, in a cloud, which also
shrouded the multitude that followed.

The three companions had labored on as far as the ho