ite throat. By their side stood the
interpreter who translated every word of the conversation on both sides.
Behind them came two men and two women, who carried gifts for Mena and
his wife.

The prince praised Mena's magnanimity in the warmest terms.

"You have proved to me," he said, "that the virtues of gratitude, of
constancy, and of faith are practised by the Egyptians; although your
merit certainly appears less to me now that I see your wife, for he who
owns the fairest may easily forego any taste for the fair."

Nefert blushed.

"Your generosity," she answered, "does me more than justice at your
daughter's expense, and love moved my husband to the same injustice, but
your beautiful daughter must forgive you and me also."

Praxilla went towards her and expressed her thanks; then she offered her
the costly coronet, the golden clasps and strings of rare pearls which
her women carried; her father begged Mena to accept a coat of mail and
a shield of fine silver work. The strangers were then led into the tent,
and were there welcomed and entertained with all honor, and offered
bread and wine. While Mena pledged her father, Praxilla related to
Nefert, with the help of the interpreter, what hours of terror she had
lived through after she had been taken prisoner by the Egyptians, and
was brought into the camp with the other spoils of war; how an older
commander had asserted his claim to her, how Mena had given her
his hand, had led her to his tent, and had treated her like his own
daughter. Her voice shook with emotion, and even the interpreter was
moved as she concluded her story with these words: "How grateful I am to
him, you will fully understand when I tell you that the man who was to
have been my husband fell wounded before my eyes while defending our
camp; but he has recovered, and now only awaits my return for our
wedding."

"May the Gods only grant it!" cried the king, "for Praxilla is the last
child of my house. The murderous war robbed me of my four fair sons
before they had taken wives, my son-in-law was slain by the Egyptians
at the taking of our camp, and his wife and new-born son fell into their
hands, and Praxilla is my youngest child, the only one left to me by the
envious Gods."

While he was still speaking, they heard the guards call out and a
child's loud cry, and at the same instant little Scherau rushed into the
tent holding up his hand exclaiming.

"I have it! I have found it!"

Uarda, wh