losely shut, and moved only in
silent prayer or when some friend spoke to her of her unhappy son. His
deed she well knew was that of a reprobate, and she sought no excuse or
defence; her mother's heart forgave it without any. Whenever she thought
of him--and she thought of him incessantly all through the day and
through her sleepless nights-her eyes overflowed with tears.

Her boat had reached Pelusium just as the flames were breaking out in
the palace; the broad flare of light and the cries from the various
vessels in the harbor brought her on deck. She heard that the burning
house was the pavilion erected by Ani for the king's residence; Rameses
she was told was in the utmost danger, and the fire had beyond a doubt
been laid by traitors.

As day broke and further news reached her, the names of her son and of
her sister came to her ear; she asked no questions--she would not hear
the truth--but she knew it all the same; as often as the word "traitor"
caught her ear in her cabin, to which she had retreated, she felt as if
some keen pain shot through her bewildered brain, and shuddered as if
from a cold chill.

All through that day she could neither eat nor drink, but lay with
closed eyes on her couch, while her steward--who had soon learnt what a
terrible share his former master had taken in the incendiarism, and
who now gave up his lady's cause for lost--sought every where for the
high-priest Ameni; but as he was among the persons nearest to the king
it was impossible to see him that day, and it was not till the next
morning that he was able to speak with him. Ameni inspired the anxious
and sorrowful old retainer with, fresh courage, returned with him in
his own chariot to the harbor, and accompanied him to Setchem's boat
to prepare her for the happiness which awaited her after her terrible
troubles. But he came too late, the spirit of the poor lady was quite
clouded, and she listened to him without any interest while he strove
to restore her to courage and to recall her wandering mind. She only
interrupted him over and over again with the questions: "Did he do it?"
or "Is he alive?"

At last Ameni succeeded in persuading her to accompany him in her litter
to his tent, where she would find her son. Pentaur was wonderfully like
her lost husband, and the priest, experienced in humanity, thought that
the sight of him would rouse the dormant powers of her mind. When she
had arrived at his tent, he told her with kind pre