hat they might be divided
impartially between the various temples, and as Jethro always placed
himself by Amuba's side, it naturally happened that they fell to the
same destination.

On reaching the temple the little band of captives were again drawn
up, and the high priest, Ameres, a grave and distinguished-looking
man, walked along the line scrutinizing them. He beckoned to Amuba to
step forward. "Henceforth," he said, "you are my servant. Behave well,
and you will be well treated." He again walked down the line, and
Amuba saw that he was going to choose another, and threw himself on
his knees before him.

"Will my lord pardon my boldness," he said, "but may I implore you to
choose yonder man who stood next beside me? He has been my friend
from childhood, he covered me with his shield in battle, he has been a
father to me since I have lost my own. Do not, I implore you, my lord,
separate us now. You will find us both willing to labor at whatsoever
you may give us to do."

The priest listened gravely.

"It shall be as you wish," he said; "it is the duty of every man to
give pleasure to those around him if it lies in his power, and as your
friend is a man of thews and sinews, and has a frank and honest face,
he will assuredly suit me as well as another; do you therefore both
follow me to my house."

The other captives saluted Amuba as he and Jethro turned to follow.
The priest observed the action, and said to the lad:

"Were you a person of consequence among your people that they thus at
parting salute you rather than your comrade, who is older than you?"

"I am the son of him who was their king," Amuba said. "He fell in
action with your troops, and had not our city been taken, and the
nation subdued by the Egyptians, I should have inherited the throne."

"Is it so?" the priest said. "Truly the changes and fortunes of life
are strange. I wonder that, being the son of their king, you were not
specially kept by Thotmes himself."

"I think that he knew it not," Amuba said. "We knew not your customs,
and my fellow-captives thought that possibly I might be put to death
were it known that I was a son of their king, and therefore abstained
from all outward marks of respect, which, indeed, would to one who was
a slave like themselves have been ridiculous."

"Perhaps it is best so," the priest said thoughtfully. "You would not
have been injured, for we do not slay our captives taken in war;
still maybe your life wil