“Willingly,” said the princess.  “How could I beat down such an assistant.  Come now with me into the kitchen.  I am having some fruit packed for my father and brothers; there must be a box for Mena too.”  Nefert followed her royal friend, found them packing in one case the golden dates of the oasis of Amon, and in another the dark dates of Nubia, the king’s favorite sort.  “Let me pack them!” cried Nefert; she made the servants empty the box again, and re-arranged the various-colored dates in graceful patterns, with other fruits preserved in sugar.

Bent-Anat looked on, and when she had finished she took her hand.  “Whatever your fingers have touched,” she exclaimed, “takes some pretty aspect.  Give me that scrap of papyrus; I shall put it in the case, and write upon it: 

“’These were packed for king Rameses by his daughter’s clever helpmate, the wife of Mena.’”

After the mid-day rest the princess was called away, and Nefert remained for some hours alone with the work-women.

When the sun went down, and the busy crowd were about to leave, Nefert detained them, and said:  “The Sun-bark is sinking behind the western hills; come, let us pray together for the king and for those we love in the field.  Each of you think of her own:  you children of your fathers, you women of your sons, and we wives of our distant husbands, and let us entreat Amon that they may return to us as certainly as the sun, which now leaves us, will rise again to-morrow morning.”

Nefert knelt down, and with her the women and the children.

When they rose, a little girl went up to Nefert, and said, pulling her dress:  “Thou madest us kneel here yesterday, and already my mother is better, because I prayed for her.”

“No doubt,” said Nefert, stroking the child’s black hair.

She found Bent-Anat on the terrace meditatively gazing across to the Necropolis, which was fading into darkness before her eyes.  She started when she heard the light footsteps of her friend.

“I am disturbing thee,” said Nefert, about to retire.

“No, stay,” said Bent-Anat.  “I thank the Gods that I have you, for my heart is sad—­pitifully sad.”

“I know where your thoughts were,” said Nefert softly.  “Well?” asked the princess.

“With Pentaur.”

“I think of him—­always of him,” replied the princess, “and nothing else occupies my heart.  I am no longer myself.  What I think I ought not to think, what I feel I ought not to feel, and yet, I cannot command it, and I think my heart would bleed to death if I tried to cut out those thoughts and feelings.  I have behaved strangely, nay unbecomingly, and now that which is hard to endure is hanging over me, something strange-which will perhaps drive you from me back to your mother.”

“I will share everything with you,” cried Nefert.  “What is going to happen?  Are you then no longer the daughter of Rameses?”