earer's
daughter, stricken with panic, fled, nor paused until she had passed
far beyond the chamber of Ta-user.

Cowering in a friendly niche, she waited until the princess had
disappeared, and then only after a long time was she sufficiently
reassured to reach her own apartments.

It was the next day's noon before Masanath saw her father. Then he
came with light step as she sat in her room. Approaching from behind
her, he took her face between his hands, and tilting it back, kissed
her.

"I give thee joy, Masanath. Thou hast melted the iron prince."

She rose and faced him. "Did Rameses tell thee I loved him?" she
demanded, a faint hope stirring in her heart.

"Nay, far from it. He told me, and laughed as he said it, that if thy
soft heart had any passion for him it was hate."

"Said he that? Nay, now, my father, thou seest I can not marry him."
There was relief in her voice, and she drew near to the fan-bearer and
invited his arms. He sat down instead, and drawing up a stool with his
foot, bade her sit at his feet.

"Listen! It is a whim of the Hathors to conceal one's own feelings
from him at times, that he may accomplish his own undoing, being blind.
Much is at stake on thy love for the prince. Awake, Masanath! Thou
dost love him; thou wilt wed him--and it shall go well with--all others
whom thou lovest."

"Wouldst use me for a price, my father--wouldst barter thy daughter for
something?" she asked in a tone low with apprehension.

"Ah, what inelegant words," he chid. "Thou dost miscall my purpose.
Look, my daughter. Have I not served thee with hand and heart all thy
life, asking nothing, sacrificing much? I, for one, have a debt
against thee, and thou canst pay it in thy marriage to Rameses. Dost
thou not love me enough to make me secure with the prince, and so,
secure in mine advisership to the king?"

Masanath arose slowly, as if her movements kept pace with the progress
of her realizations. Thus far she had been a loving and a believing
child. The genial knavishness of her father had never appeared as such
to her. In her sight he was cheery, great and lovable. Most of all
she had flattered herself that he loved her better than life, and that
his nights were sleepless in planning for her happiness. Now, a
terrifying lapse in his care, or a more terrifying display of his real
character, appalled her.

He had placed his demand in the most irresistible form, by calling upon
her duti