back and bring me news?"

"That will not do, for we set sail at midnight, but if some one returns
to you with the ring you will know that what I propose has succeeded."

Uarda went into the hut, her father followed her; he took leave of his
sick mother and of his daughter. When they went out of doors again, he
said: "You have to live on the princess's gift till I return, and I do
not want half of the physician's present. But where is your pomegranate
blossom?"

"I have picked it and preserved it in a safe place."

"Strange things are women!" muttered the bearded man; he tenderly kissed
his child's forehead, and returned to the Nile down the road by which he
had come.

The prince meanwhile had hurried on, and enquired in the harbor of the
Necropolis where the vessel destined for Chennu was lying--for the ships
loaded with prisoners were accustomed to sail from this side of the
river, starting at night. Then he was ferried over the river, and
hastened to Bent-Anat. He found her and Nefert in unusual excitement,
for the faithful chamberlain had learned--through some friends of the
king in Ani's suite--that the Regent had kept back all the letters
intended for Syria, and among them those of the royal family.

A lord in waiting, who was devoted to the king, had been encouraged by
the chamberlain to communicate to Bent-Anat other things, which hardly
allowed any doubts as to the ambitious projects of her uncle; she was
also exhorted to be on her guard with Nefert, whose mother was the
confidential adviser of the Regent.

Bent-Anat smiled at this warning, and sent at once a message to Ani
to inform him that she was ready to undertake the pilgrimage to the
"Emerald-Hathor," and to be purified in the sanctuary of that Goddess.

She purposed sending a message to her father from thence, and if he
permitted it, joining him at the camp.

She imparted this plan to her friend, and Nefert thought any road best
that would take her to her husband.

Rameri was soon initiated into all this, and in return he told them all
he had learned, and let Bent-Anat guess that he had read her secret.

So dignified, so grave, were the conduct and the speech of the boy who
had so lately been an overhearing mad-cap, that Bent-Anat thought to
herself that the danger of their house had suddenly ripened a boy into a
man.

She had in fact no objection to raise to his arrangements. He proposed
to travel after sunset, with a few faithful servants