“I have not seen a flower for so long, grandmother.”

“Wait, child,” she replied; she took from a jug the rose, which the princess had laid on the bosom of her grandchild, and offered it to her.  Before Uarda could take it, the withered petals fell, and dropped upon her.  The surgeon stooped, gathered them up, and put them into the child’s hand.

“How good you are!” she said; “I am called Uarda—­like this flower—­and I love roses and the fresh air.  Will you carry me out now?”

Nebsecht called the paraschites, who came into the hut with his son, and they carried the girl out into the air, and laid her under the humble tent they had contrived for her.  The soldier’s knees trembled while he held the light burden of his daughter’s weight in his strong hands, and he sighed when he laid her down on the mat.

“How blue the sky is!” cried Uarda.  “Ah! grandfather has watered my pomegranate, I thought so! and there come my doves! give me some corn in my hand, grandmother.  How pleased they are.”

The graceful birds, with black rings round their reddish-grey necks, flew confidingly to her, and took the corn that she playfully laid between her lips.

Nebsecht looked on with astonishment at this pretty play.  He felt as if a new world had opened to him, and some new sense, hitherto unknown to him, had been revealed to him within his breast.  He silently sat down in front of the but, and drew the picture of a rose on the sand with a reed-stem that he picked up.

Perfect stillness was around him; the doves even had flown up, and settled on the roof.  Presently the dog barked, steps approached; Uarda lifted herself up and said: 

“Grandmother, it is the priest Pentaur.”

“Who told you?” asked the old woman.

“I know it,” answered the girl decidedly, and in a few moments a sonorous voice cried:  “Good day to you.  How is your invalid?”

Pentaur was soon standing by Uarda; pleased to hear Nebsecht’s good report, and with the sweet face of the girl.  He had some flowers in his hand, that a happy maiden had laid on the altar of the Goddess Hathor, which he had served since the previous day, and he gave them to the sick girl, who took them with a blush, and held them between her clasped hands.

“The great Goddess whom I serve sends you these,” said Pentaur, “and they will bring you healing.  Continue to resemble them.  You are pure and fair like them, and your course henceforth may be like theirs.  As the sun gives life to the grey horizon, so you bring joy to this dark but.  Preserve your innocence, and wherever you go you will bring love, as flowers spring in every spot that is trodden by the golden foot of Hathor.

     [Hathor is frequently called “the golden,” particularly at Dendera
     She has much in common with the “golden Aphrodite.”]

May her blessing rest upon you!”

He had spoken the last words half to the old couple and half to Uarda, and was already turning to depart when, behind a heap of dried reeds that lay close to the awning over the girl, the bitter cry of a child was heard, and a little boy came forward who held, as high as he could reach, a little cake, of which the dog, who seemed to know him well, had snatched half.