oon as she had disappeared within the temple, the priest turned to
the gate-keeper and exclaimed: "Is this how you serve the goddess, is
this how you take advantage of a heart-wrung woman? Give me the keys of
this gate. Your office is taken from you, and early to-morrow you go out
in the fields, and keep the geese of Hathor."

The porter threw himself on his knees with loud outcries; but Pentaur
turned his back upon him, entered the sanctuary, and mounted the steps
which led to his dwelling on the third terrace.

A few priests whom he passed turned their backs upon him, others looked
down at their dinners, eating noisily, and making as if they did not
see him. They had combined strongly, and were determined to expel the
inconvenient intruder at any price.

Having reached his room, which had been splendidly decorated for his
predecessor, Pentaur laid aside his new insignia, comparing sorrowfully
the past and the present.

To what an exchange Ameni had condemned him! Here, wherever he looked,
he met with sulkiness and aversion; while, when he walked through the
courts of the House of Seti, a hundred boys would hurry towards him, and
cling affectionately to his robe. Honored there by great and small, his
every word had had its value; and when each day he gave utterance to his
thoughts, what he bestowed came back to him refined by earnest discourse
with his associates and superiors, and he gained new treasures for his
inner life.

"What is rare," thought he, "is full of charm; and yet how hard it is
to do without what is habitual!" The occurrences of the last few days
passed before his mental sight. Bent-Anat's image appeared before him,
and took a more and more distinct and captivating form. His heart began
to beat wildly, the blood rushed faster through his veins; he hid his
face in his hands, and recalled every glance, every word from her lips.

"I follow thee willingly," she had said to him before the hut of the
paraschites. Now he asked himself whether he were worthy of such a
follower.

He had indeed broken through the old bonds, but not to disgrace the
house that was dear to him, only to let new light into its dim chambers.

"To do what we have earnestly felt to be right," said he to himself,
"may seem worthy of punishment to men, but cannot before God."

He sighed and walked out into the terrace in a mood of lofty excitement,
and fully resolved to do here nothing but what was right, to lay the
foundation o