beloved, and not as a
master to judge and punish. He was deeply moved as he accepted the
greetings of the priests, and with them offered up a public prayer. Then
he was conducted to the splendid structure which had been prepared for
him gaily mounted the outside steps, and from the top-most stair bowed to
his innumerable crowd of subjects; and while he awaited the procession
from the harbor which escorted Bent-Anat in her litter, he inspected the
thousand decorated bulls and antelopes which were to be slaughtered as a
thank-offering to the Gods, the tame lions and leopards, the rare trees
in whose branches perched gaily-colored birds, the giraffes, and chariots
to which ostriches were harnessed, which all marched past him in a long
array.
[The splendor of the festivities I make Ani prepare seems pitiful
compared with those Ptolemy Philadelphus, according to the report of
an eye witness, Callexenus, displayed to the Alexandrians on a
festal occasion.]
Rameses embraced his daughter before all the people; he felt as if he
must admit his subjects to the fullest sympathy in the happiness and deep
thankfulness which filled his soul. His favorite child had never seemed
to him so beautiful as this day, and he realized with deep emotion her
strong resemblance to his lost wife.--[Her name was Isis Nefert.]
Nefert had accompanied her royal friend as fanbearer, and she knelt
before the king while he gave himself up to the delight of meeting his
daughter. Then he observed her, and kindly desired her to rise. "How
much," he said, "I am feeling to-day for the first time! I have already
learned that what I formerly thought of as the highest happiness is
capable of a yet higher pitch, and I now perceive that the most beautiful
is capable of growing to greater beauty! A sun has grown from Mena's
star."
Rameses, as he spoke, remembered his charioteer; for a moment his brow
was clouded, and he cast down his eyes, and bent his head in thought.
Bent-Anat well knew this gesture of her father's; it was the omen of some
kindly, often sportive suggestion, such as he loved to surprise his
friends with.
He reflected longer than usual; at last he looked up, and his full eyes
rested lovingly on his daughter as he asked her:
"What did your friend say when she heard that her husband had taken a
pretty stranger into his tent, and harbored her there for months? Tell me
the whole truth of it, Bent-Anat."
"I am indebted to th
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