ges of the woman.

"Willingly," said the princess. "How could I beat down such an assistant.
Come now with me into the kitchen. I am having some fruit packed for my
father and brothers; there must be a box for Mena too." Nefert followed
her royal friend, found them packing in one case the golden dates of the
oasis of Amon, and in another the dark dates of Nubia, the king's
favorite sort. "Let me pack them!" cried Nefert; she made the servants
empty the box again, and re-arranged the various-colored dates in
graceful patterns, with other fruits preserved in sugar.

Bent-Anat looked on, and when she had finished she took her hand.
"Whatever your fingers have touched," she exclaimed, "takes some pretty
aspect. Give me that scrap of papyrus; I shall put it in the case, and
write upon it:

"'These were packed for king Rameses by his daughter's clever helpmate,
the wife of Mena.'"

After the mid-day rest the princess was called away, and Nefert remained
for some hours alone with the work-women.

When the sun went down, and the busy crowd were about to leave, Nefert
detained them, and said: "The Sun-bark is sinking behind the western
hills; come, let us pray together for the king and for those we love in
the field. Each of you think of her own: you children of your fathers,
you women of your sons, and we wives of our distant husbands, and let us
entreat Amon that they may return to us as certainly as the sun, which
now leaves us, will rise again to-morrow morning."

Nefert knelt down, and with her the women and the children.

When they rose, a little girl went up to Nefert, and said, pulling her
dress: "Thou madest us kneel here yesterday, and already my mother is
better, because I prayed for her."

"No doubt," said Nefert, stroking the child's black hair.

She found Bent-Anat on the terrace meditatively gazing across to the
Necropolis, which was fading into darkness before her eyes. She started
when she heard the light footsteps of her friend.

"I am disturbing thee," said Nefert, about to retire.

"No, stay," said Bent-Anat. "I thank the Gods that I have you, for my
heart is sad--pitifully sad."

"I know where your thoughts were," said Nefert softly. "Well?" asked the
princess.

"With Pentaur."

"I think of him--always of him," replied the princess, "and nothing else
occupies my heart. I am no longer myself. What I think I ought not to
think, what I feel I ought not to feel, and yet, I cannot command it, and