ink of my mother and the
blessed spirits of those loved ones to whom I may not sacrifice to-day."

"I will go with you," said Rameri.

"You, Nefert--stay here," said Bent-Anat, "and cut as many flowers as
you like; take the best and finest, and make a wreath, and when it is
ready we will send a messenger across to lay it, with other gifts, on
the grave of your Mena's mother."

When, half-an-hour later, the brother and sister returned to the young
wife, two graceful garlands hung in Nefert's bands, one for the grave of
the dead queen, and one for Mena's mother.

"I will carry over the wreaths, and lay them in the tombs," cried the
prince.

"Ani thought it would be better that we should not show ourselves to the
people," said his sister. "They will scarcely notice that you are not
among the school-boys, but--"

"But I will not go over as the king's son, but as a gardener's boy--"
interrupted the prince. "Listen to the flourish of trumpets! the God has
now passed through the gates."

Rameri stepped out into the balcony, and the two women followed him, and
looked down on the scene of the embarkation which they could easily see
with their sharp young eyes.

"It will be a thinner and poorer procession without either my father or
us, that is one comfort," said Rameri. "The chorus is magnificent; here
come the plume-bearers and singers; there is the chief prophet at the
great temple, old Bek-en-Chunsu. How dignified he looks, but he will not
like going. Now the God is coming, for I, smell the incense."

With these words the prince fell on his knees, and the women followed
his example--when they saw first a noble bull in whose shining skin the
sun was reflected, and who bore between his horns a golden disk, above
which stood white ostrich-feathers; and then, divided from the bull only
by a few fan-bearers, the God himself, sometimes visible, but more often
hidden from sight by great semi-circular screens of black and white
ostrich-feathers, which were fixed on long poles, and with which the
priests shaded the God.

His mode of progress was as mysterious as his name, for he seemed to
float slowly on his gorgeous throne from the temple-gates towards the
stream. His seat was placed on a platform, magnificently decorated with
bunches and garlands of flowers, and covered with hangings of purple and
gold brocade, which concealed the priests who bore it along with a slow
and even pace.

As soon as the God had been placed