them away."

During this narrative, which was heard with much approval--for no one is
more secure of his result than he who can tell of the downfall of a man
who is disliked for his arrogance--the Regent and the high-priest had
been eagerly whispering to each other.

"There can be no doubt," said Ameni, that Bent-Anat did actually come to
the festival."

"And had also dealings with the priest whom you so warmly defend,"
whispered the other.

"Pentaur shall be questioned this very night," returned the high-priest.
"The dishes will soon be taken away, and the drinking will begin. Let us
go and hear what the poet says."

"But there are now no witnesses," replied Ani.

"We do not need them," said Ameni. "He is incapable of a lie."

"Let us go then," said the Regent smiling, "for I am really curious about
this white negro, and how he will come to terms with the truth. You have
forgotten that there is a woman in the case."

"That there always is!" answered Ameni; he called Gagabu to him, gave him
his seat, begged him to keep up the flow of cheerful conversation, to
encourage the guests to drink, and to interrupt all talk of the king, the
state, or the war.

"You know," he concluded, "that we are not by ourselves this evening.
Wine has, before this, betrayed everything! Remember this--the mother of
foresight looks backwards!"

Ani clapped his hand on the old man's shoulder. "There will be a space
cleared to-night in your winelofts. It is said of you that you cannot
bear to see either a full glass or an empty one; to-night give your
aversion to both free play. And when you think it is the right moment,
give a sign to my steward, who is sitting there in the corner. He has a
few jars of the best liquor from Byblos, that he brought over with him,
and he will bring it to you. I will come in again and bid you
good-night." Ameni was accustomed to leave the hall at the beginning of
the drinking.

When the door was closed behind him and his companion, when fresh
rose-garlands had been brought for the necks of the company, when lotus
blossoms decorated their heads, and the beakers were refilled, a choir of
musicians came in, who played on harps, lutes, flutes, and small drums.
The conductor beat the time by clapping his hands, and when the music had
raised the spirits of the drinkers, they seconded his efforts by
rhythmical clippings. The jolly old Gagabu kept up his character as a
stout drinker, and leader of the feast.