To what an exchange Ameni had condemned him!  Here, wherever he looked, he met with sulkiness and aversion; while, when he walked through the courts of the House of Seti, a hundred boys would hurry towards him, and cling affectionately to his robe.  Honored there by great and small, his every word had had its value; and when each day he gave utterance to his thoughts, what he bestowed came back to him refined by earnest discourse with his associates and superiors, and he gained new treasures for his inner life.

“What is rare,” thought he, “is full of charm; and yet how hard it is to do without what is habitual!” The occurrences of the last few days passed before his mental sight.  Bent-Anat’s image appeared before him, and took a more and more distinct and captivating form.  His heart began to beat wildly, the blood rushed faster through his veins; he hid his face in his hands, and recalled every glance, every word from her lips.

“I follow thee willingly,” she had said to him before the hut of the paraschites.  Now he asked himself whether he were worthy of such a follower.

He had indeed broken through the old bonds, but not to disgrace the house that was dear to him, only to let new light into its dim chambers.

“To do what we have earnestly felt to be right,” said he to himself, “may seem worthy of punishment to men, but cannot before God.”

He sighed and walked out into the terrace in a mood of lofty excitement, and fully resolved to do here nothing but what was right, to lay the foundation of all that was good.

“We men,” thought he, “prepare sorrow when we come into the world, and lamentation when we leave it; and so it is our duty in the intermediate time to fight with suffering, and to sow the seeds of joy.  There are many tears here to be wiped away.  To work then!” The poet found none of his subordinates on the upper terrace.  They had all met in the forecourt of the temple, and were listening to the gate-keeper’s tale, and seemed to sympathize with his angry complaint—­against whom Pentaur well knew.

With a firm step he went towards them and said: 

“I have expelled this man from among us, for he is a disgrace to us.  To-morrow he quits the temple.”

“I will go at once,” replied the gate-keeper defiantly, “and in behalf of the holy fathers (here he cast a significant glance at the priests), ask the high-priest Ameni if the unclean are henceforth to be permitted to enter this sanctuary.”

He was already approaching the gate, but Pentaur stepped before him, saying resolutely: 

“You will remain here and keep the geese to-morrow, day after to-morrow, and until I choose to pardon you.”  The gate-keeper looked enquiringly at the priests.  Not one moved.

“Go back into your house,” said Pentaur, going closer to him.

The porter obeyed.

Pentaur locked the door of the little room, gave the key to one of the temple-servants, and said:  “Perform his duty, watch the man, and if he escapes you will go after the geese to-morrow too.  See, my friends, how many worshippers kneel there before our altars—­go and fulfil your office.  I will wait in the confessional to receive complaints, and to administer comfort.”