pindle in the corner,
and some unfinished nets of glass beads shewed that she had been fond of
woman's usual work.

It was a sad pleasure to Rhodopis to examine all these things, and the
picture which she drew in her own mind of Tachot after the inspection,
differed very little from the reality. At last interest and curiosity led
her to a large painted chest. She lifted the light cover and found,
first, a few dried flowers; then a ball, round which some skilful hand
had wreathed roses and leaves, once fresh and bright, now, alas, long ago
dead and withered. Beside these were a number of amulets in different
forms, one representing the goddess of truth, another containing spells
written on a strip of papyrus and concealed in a little golden case. Then
her eyes fell on some letters written in the Greek character. She read
them by the light of the lamp. They were from Nitetis in Persia to her
supposed sister, and were written in ignorance of the latter's illness.
When Rhodopis laid them down her eyes were full of tears. The dead girl's
secret lay open before her. She knew now that Tachot had loved Bartja,
that he had given her the faded flowers, and that she had wreathed the
ball with roses because he had thrown it to her. The amulets must have
been intended either to heal her sick heart, or to awaken love in his.

As she was putting the letters back in their old place, she touched some
cloths which seemed put in to fill up the bottom of the chest, and felt a
hard round substance underneath. She raised them, and discovered a bust
made of colored wax, such a wonderfully-exact portrait of Nitetis, that
an involuntary exclamation of surprise broke from her, and it was long
before she could turn her eyes away from Theodorus' marvellous work.

She went to rest and fell asleep, thinking of the sad fate of Nitetis,
the Egyptian Princess.

The next morning Rhodopis went into the garden--the same into which we
led our readers during the lifetime of Amasis-and found Bartja and Sappho
in an arbor overgrown with vines.

Sappho was seated in a light wicker-work chair. Her child lay on her lap,
stretching out its little hands and feet, sometimes to its father, who
was kneeling on the ground before them, and then to its mother whose
laughing face was bent down over her little one.

Bartja was very happy with his child. When the little creature buried its
tiny fingers in his curls and beard, he would draw his head back to feel
the s