cope with Ani, the priests, and
all whom he had left in Egypt; but it grieved him to be obliged to
feel any loss of confidence, and it was harder to him to bear than any
reverse of fortune. It urged him to hasten his return to Egypt.

There was another thing which embittered his victory. Mena, whom he
loved as his own son, who understood his lightest sign, who, as soon
as he mounted his chariot, was there by his side like a part of
himself--had been dismissed from his office by the judgment of the
commander-in-chief, and no longer drove his horses. He himself had been
obliged to confirm this decision as just and even mild, for that man was
worthy of death who exposed his king to danger for the gratification of
his own revenge.

Rameses had not seen Mena since his struggle with Paaker, but he
listened anxiously to the news which was brought him of the progress of
his sorely wounded officer.

The cheerful, decided, and practical nature of Rameses was averse to
every kind of dreaminess or self-absorption, and no one had ever seen
him, even in hours of extreme weariness, give himself up to vague and
melancholy brooding; but now he would often sit gazing at the ground in
wrapt meditation, and start like an awakened sleeper when his reverie
was disturbed by the requirements of the outer world around him. A
hundred times before he had looked death in the face, and defied it as
he would any other enemy, but now it seemed as though he felt the cold
hand of the mighty adversary on his heart. He could not forget the
oppressive sense of helplessness which had seized him when he had felt
himself at the mercy of the unrestrained horses, like a leaf driven by
the wind, and then suddenly saved by a miracle.

A miracle? Was it really Amon who had appeared in human form at his
call? Was he indeed a son of the Gods, and did their blood flow in his
veins?

The Immortals had shown him peculiar favor, but still he was but a man;
that he realized from the pain in his wound, and the treason to which
he had been a victim. He felt as if he had been respited on the very
scaffold. Yes; he was a man like all other men, and so he would still
be. He rejoiced in the obscurity that veiled his future, in the many
weaknesses which he had in common with those whom he loved, and even
in the feeling that he, under the same conditions of life as his
contemporaries, had more responsibilities than they.

Shortly after his victory, after all the importan