Ameni, in full robes, and followed by
twenty pastophori--[An order of priests]--who bore images of the Gods and
holy symbols on their shoulders--Ameni walked into the midst of the
crowd.

All were silent.

"Wherefore do you disturb our worship?" he asked loudly and calmly.

A roar of confused cries answered him, in which the frequently repeated
name of Bent-Anat could alone be distinguished.

Ameni preserved his immoveable composure, and, raising his crozier, he
cried--

"Make way for the daughter of Rameses, who sought and has found
purification from the Gods, who behold the guilt of the highest as of the
lowest among you. They reward the pious, but they punish the offender.
Kneel down and let us pray that they may forgive you, and bless both you
and your children."

Ameni took the holy Sistrum

[A rattling metal instrument used by the Egyptians in the service of
the Gods. Many specimens are extant in Museums. Plutarch describes
it correctly, thus: "The Sistrum is rounded above, and the loop
holds the four bars which are shaken." On the bend of the Sistrum
they often set the head of a cat with a human face.]

from one of the attendant pastophori, and held it on high; the priests
behind him raised a solemn hymn, and the crowd sank on their knees; nor
did they move till the chant ceased and the high-priest again cried out:

"The Immortals bless you by me their servant. Leave this spot and make
way for the daughter of Rameses."

With these words he withdrew into the temple, and the patrol, without
meeting with any opposition, cleared the road guarded by Sphinxes which
led to the Nile.

As Bent-Anat mounted her chariot Ameni said "Thou art the child of kings.
The house of thy father rests on the shoulders of the people. Loosen the
old laws which hold them subject, and the people will conduct themselves
like these fools."

Ameni retired. Bent-Anat slowly arranged the reins in her hand, her eyes
resting the while on the poet, who, leaning against a door-post, gazed at
her in beatitude. She let her whip fall to the ground, that he might pick
it up and restore it to her, but he did not observe it. A runner sprang
forward and handed it to the princess, whose horses started off, tossing
themselves and neighing.

Pentaur remained as if spell-bound, standing by the pillar, till the
rattle of the departing wheels on the flag-way of the Avenue of Sphinxes
had altogether died away, and the reflection o