he stranger with a
disquiet that seemed to him all the more singular that he had frequently
found himself in a similar position. Even the noblest dignitaries had
often been transferred to him by Ameni when they had come to the temple
to have their visions interpreted.

A tall female figure entered the still, sultry stone room, sank on
her knees, and put up a long and absorbed prayer before the figure of
Hathor. Pentaur also, seen by no one, lifted his hands, and fervently
addressed himself to the omnipresent spirit with a prayer for strength
and purity.

Just as his arms fell the lady raised her head. It was as though the
prayers of the two souls had united to mount upwards together.

The veiled lady rose and dropped her veil.

It was Bent-Anat.

In the agitation of her soul she had sought the goddess Hathor, who
guides the beating heart of woman and spins the threads which bind man
and wife.

"High mistress of heaven! many-named and beautiful!" she began to pray
aloud, "golden Hathor! who knowest grief and ecstasy--the present and
the future--draw near to thy child, and guide the spirit of thy servant,
that he may advise me well. I am the daughter of a father who is great
and noble and truthful as one of the Gods. He advises me--he will never
compel me--to yield to a man whom I can never love. Nay, another has met
me, humble in birth but noble in spirit and in gifts--"

Thus far, Pentaur, incapable of speech, had overheard the princess.

Ought he to remain concealed and hear all her secret, or should he step
forth and show himself to her? His pride called loudly to him: "Now
she will speak your name; you are the chosen one of the fairest and
noblest." But another voice to which he had accustomed himself to listen
in severe self-discipline made itself heard, and said--"Let her say
nothing in ignorance, that she need be ashamed of if she knew."

He blushed for her;--he opened the curtain and went forward into the
presence of Bent-Anat.

The Princess drew back startled.

"Art thou Pentaur," she asked, "or one of the Immortals?"

"I am Pentaur," he answered firmly, "a man with all the weakness of his
race, but with a desire for what is good. Linger here and pour out thy
soul to our Goddess; my whole life shall be a prayer for thee."

The poet looked full at her; then he turned quickly, as if to avoid a
danger, towards the door of the confessional.

Bent-Anat called his name, and he stayed his steps:

"Th