stood, was worth as
much as the whole of Mena's estates.

Since his conversation with Nemu, and the dwarf's interpretation of his
dream, the path which he must tread to reach his aim had been plain
before him. Nefert's mother must be won with the gold which would save
her from disgrace, and Mena must be sent to the other world. He relied
chiefly on his own reckless obstinacy--which he liked to call firm
determination--Nemu's cunning, and the love-philter.

He now approached Katuti with the certainty of success, like a merchant
who means to acquire some costly object, and feels that he is rich enough
to pay for it. But his aunt's proud and dignified manner confounded him.

He had pictured her quite otherwise, spirit-broken, and suppliant; and he
had expected, and hoped to earn, Nefert's thanks as well as her mother's
by his generosity. Mena's pretty wife was however absent, and Katuti did
not send for her even after he had enquired after her health.

The widow made no advances, and some time passed in indifferent
conversation, till Paaker abruptly informed her that he had heard of her
son's reckless conduct, and had decided, as being his mother's nearest
relation, to preserve her from the degradation that threatened her. For
the sake of his bluntness, which she took for honesty, Katuti forgave the
magnificence of his dress, which under the circumstances certainly seemed
ill-chosen; she thanked him with dignity, but warmly, more for the sake
of her children than for her own; for life she said was opening before
them, while for her it was drawing to its close.

"You are still at a good time of life," said Paaker.

"Perhaps at the best," replied the widow, "at any rate from my point of
view; regarding life as I do as a charge, a heavy responsibility."

"The administration of this involved estate must give you many, anxious
hours--that I understand." Katuti nodded, and then said sadly:

"I could bear it all, if I were not condemned to see my poor child being
brought to misery without being able to help her or advise her. You once
would willingly have married her, and I ask you, was there a maiden in
Thebes--nay in all Egypt--to compare with her for beauty? Was she not
worthy to be loved, and is she not so still? Does she deserve that her
husband should leave her to starve, neglect her, and take a strange woman
into his tent as if he had repudiated her? I see what you feel about it!
You throw all the blame on me. Your