istency. Here, where the present retires
into the background, the thoughtful spirit finds no limits however
remote."

"Yes; one can think well in the desert," said Nebsecht. "Much has become
clear to me here that in Egypt I only guessed at."

"What may that be?" asked Pentaur.

"In the first place," replied Nebsecht, "that we none of us really know
anything rightly; secondly that the ass may love the rose, but the rose
will not love the ass; and the third thing I will keep to myself, because
it is my secret, and though it concerns all the world no one would
trouble himself about it. My lord chamberlain, how is this? You know
exactly how low people must bow before the princess in proportion to
their rank, and have no idea how a back-bone is made."

"Why should I?" asked the chamberlain. "I have to attend to outward
things, while you are contemplating inward things; else your hair might
be smoother, and your dress less stained."

The travellers reached the old Cheta city of Hebron without accident;
there they took leave of Abocharabos, and under the safe escort of
Egyptian troops started again for the north. At Hebron Pentaur parted
from the princess, and Bent-Anat bid him farewell without complaining.

Uarda's father, who had learned every path and bridge in Syria,
accompanied the poet, while the physician Nebsecht remained with the
ladies, whose good star seemed to have deserted them with Pentaur's
departure, for the violent winter rains which fell in the mountains of
Samaria destroyed the roads, soaked through the tents, and condemned them
frequently to undesirable delays. At Megiddo they were received with high
honors by the commandant of the Egyptian garrison, and they were
compelled to linger here some days, for Nefert, who had been particularly
eager to hurry forward, was taken ill, and Nebsecht was obliged to forbid
her proceeding at this season.

Uarda grew pale and thoughtful, and Bent-Anat saw with anxiety that the
tender roses were fading from the cheeks of her pretty favorite; but when
she questioned her as to what ailed her she gave an evasive answer. She
had never either mentioned Rameri's name before the princess, nor shown
her her mother's jewel, for she felt as if all that had passed between
her and the prince was a secret which did not belong to her alone. Yet
another reason sealed her lips. She was passionately devoted to
Bent-Anat, and she told herself that if the princess heard it all, she
wo