he wonderful city made glorious
by the light of the setting sun, that city of which she had heard so
often, touched his head with the feathers of her fan. Thereon, as though
glad of an excuse to express his ill-humour, Abi sprang up and boxed her
ears so heavily that the poor girl fell to the deck.

"Awkward cat," he cried, "do that again and you shall be flogged until
your robe sticks to your back!"

"Pardon, mighty Lord," she said, beginning to weep, "it was an accident;
the wind caught my fan."

"So the rod shall catch your skin, if you are not more careful, Merytra.
Stop that snivelling and go send Kaku the Astrologer here. Go, both, I
weary of the sight of your ugly faces."

The girl rose, and with her fellow slave ran swiftly to the ladder that
led to the waist of the ship.

"He called me a cat," Merytra hissed through her white teeth to her
companion. "Well, if so, Sekhet the cat-headed is my godmother, and she
is the Lady of Vengeance."

"Yes," answered the other, "and he said that we were both ugly--we, whom
every lord who comes near the Court admires so much! Oh! I wish a holy
crocodile would eat him, black pig!"

"Then why don't they buy us? Abi would sell his daughters, much more his
fan-bearers--at a price."

"Because they hope to get us for nothing, my dear, and what is more,
if I can manage it one of them shall, for I am tired of this life. Have
your fling while you can, I say. Who knows at which corner Osiris, Lord
of Death, is waiting."

"Hush!" whispered Merytra, "there is that knave of an astrologer, and he
looks cross, too."

Then, hand in hand, they went to this lean and learned man and humbly
bowed themselves before him.

"Master of the Stars," said Merytra, "we have a message for you. No, do
not look at my cheek, please, the marks are not magical, only those of
the divine fingers of the glorious hand of the most exalted Prince Abi,
son of the Pharaoh happily ruling in Osiris, etc., etc., etc., of the
right, royal blood of Egypt--that is on one side, and on the other of
a divine lady whom Khem the Spirit, or Ptah the Creator, thought fit to
dip in a vat of black dye."

"Hem!" said Kaku glancing nervously over his shoulder. Then, seeing that
there was no one near, he added, "you had better be careful what you
say, my dear. The royal Abi does not like to hear the colour of his late
mother defined so closely. But why did he slap your face?"

She told him.

"Well," he answered, "if I