With these words Katuti took her nephew’s hand, and went on with increasing warmth.

“We know you to-day for the most magnanimous man in Thebes, for you have requited injustice with an immense benefaction; but even as a boy you were kind and noble.  Your father’s wish has always been dear and sacred to me, for during his lifetime he always behaved to us as an affectionate brother, and I would sooner have sown the seeds of sorrow for myself than for your mother, my beloved sister.  I brought up my child—­I guarded her jealously—­for the young hero who was absent, proving his valor in Syria —­for you and for you only.  Then your father died, my sole stay and protector.”

“I know it all!” interrupted Paaker looking gloomily at the floor.

“Who should have told you?” said the widow.  “For your mother, when that had happened which seemed incredible, forbid us her house, and shut her ears.  The king himself urged Mena’s suit, for he loves him as his own son, and when I represented your prior claim he commanded;—­and who may resist the commands of the sovereign of two worlds, the Son of Ra?  Kings have short memories; how often did your father hazard his life for him, how many wounds had he received in his service.  For your father’s sake he might have spared you such an affront, and such pain.”

“And have I myself served him, or not?” asked the pioneer flushing darkly.

“He knows you less,” returned Katuti apologetically.  Then she changed her tone to one of sympathy, and went on: 

“How was it that you, young as you were, aroused his dissatisfaction, his dislike, nay his—­”

“His what?” asked the pioneer, trembling with excitement.

“Let that pass!” said the widow soothingly.  “The favor and disfavor of kings are as those of the Gods.  Men rejoice in the one or bow to the other.”

“What feeling have I aroused in Rameses besides dissatisfaction, and dislike?  I insist on knowing!” said Paaker with increasing vehemence.

“You alarm me,” the widow declared.  “And in speaking ill of you, his only motive was to raise his favorite in Nefert’s estimation.”

“Tell me what he said!” cried the pioneer; cold drops stood on his brown forehead, and his glaring eyes showed the white eye-balls.

Katuti quailed before him, and drew back, but he followed her, seized her arm, and said huskily: 

“What did he say?”

“Paaker!” cried the widow in pain and indignation.  “Let me go.  It is better for you that I should not repeat the words with which Rameses sought to turn Nefert’s heart from you.  Let me go, and remember to whom you are speaking.”

But Paaker gripped her elbow the tighter, and urgently repeated his question.

“Shame upon you!” cried Katuti, “you are hurting me; let me go!  You will not till you have heard what he said?  Have your own way then, but the words are forced from me!  He said that if he did not know your mother Setchem for an honest woman, he never would have believed you were your father’s son—­for you were no more like him than an owl to an eagle.”