The priests separated and went to the votaries.  Pentaur once more mounted the steps, and sat down in the narrow confessional which was closed by a curtain; on its wall the picture of Hatasu was to be seen, drawing the milk of eternal life from the udders of the cow Hathor.

He had hardly taken his place when a temple-servant announced the arrival of a veiled lady.  The bearers of her litter were thickly veiled, and she had requested to be conducted to the confession chamber.  The servant handed Pentaur a token by which the high-priest of the great temple of Anion, on the other bank of the Nile, granted her the privilege of entering the inner rooms of the temple with the Rechiu, and to communicate with all priests, even with the highest of the initiated.

The poet withdrew behind a curtain, and awaited the 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?”