hich thou sawest."

Psamtik listened as if turned into stone; his father continued; "Thy
mother died in giving birth to thee; fiery-red hair, the mark of the sons
of Typhon, grew around thy brow; thou becam'st a gloomy man. Misfortune
pursued thee and robbed thee of a beloved wife and four of thy children.
The astrologers computed that even as I had been born under the fortunate
sign of Amman, so thy birth had been watched over by the rise of the
awful planet Seb. Thou . . ." But here Amasis broke off, for Psamtik, in
the anguish produced by these fearful disclosures had given way, and with
sobs and groans, cried:

"Cease, cruel father! spare me at least the bitter words, that I am the
only son in Egypt who is hated by his father without cause!"

Amasis looked down on the wretched man who had sunk to the earth before
him, his face hidden in the folds of his robe, and the father's wrath was
changed to compassion. He thought of Psamtik's mother, dead forty years
before, and felt he had been cruel in inflicting this poisonous wound on
her son's soul. It was the first time for years, that he had been able to
feel towards this cold strange man, as a father and a comforter. For the
first time he saw tears in the cold eyes of his son, and could feel the
joy of wiping them away. He seized the opportunity at once, and bending
clown over the groaning form, kissed his forehead, raised him from the
ground and said gently:

"Forgive my anger, my son! the words that have grieved thee came not from
my heart, but were spoken in the haste of wrath. Many years hast thou
angered me by thy coldness, hardness and obstinacy; to-day thou hast
wounded me again in my most sacred feelings; this hurried me into an
excess of wrath. But now all is right between us. Our natures are so
diverse that our innermost feelings will never be one, but at least we
can act in concert for the future, and show forbearance one towards the
other."

In silence Psamtik bowed down and kissed his father's robe "Not so,"
exclaimed the latter; "rather let my lips receive thy kiss, as is meet
and fitting between father and son! Thou needest not to think again of
the evil dream I have related. Dreams are phantoms, and even if sent by
the gods, the interpreters thereof are human and erring. Thy hand
trembles still, thy cheeks are white as thy robe. I was hard towards
thee, harder than a father. . . ."

"Harder than a stranger to strangers," interrupted his son. "Thou