several seats, a stand with beakers and jugs, and another with flasks of all sizes, saucers, and boxes, composed the furniture of the room, which was lighted by three lamps, shaped like birds and filled with kiki oil.—­[Castor oil, which was used in the lamps.]

Ameni wore a fine pleated robe of snow-white linen, which reached to his ankles, round his hips was a scarf adorned with fringes, which in front formed an apron, with broad, stiffened ends which fell to his knees; a wide belt of white and silver brocade confined the drapery of his robe.  Round his throat and far down on his bare breast hung a necklace more than a span deep, composed of pearls and agates, and his upper arm was covered with broad gold bracelets.  He rose from the ebony seat with lion’s feet, on which he sat, and beckoned to a servant who squatted by one of the walls of the sitting-room.  He rose and without any word of command from his master, he silently and carefully placed on the high-priest’s bare head a long and thick curled wig,

   [Egyptians belonging to the higher classes wore wigs on their shaven
   heads.  Several are preserved in museums.]

and threw a leopard-skin, with its head and claws overlaid with gold-leaf, over his shoulders.  A second servant held a metal mirror before Ameni, in which he cast a look as he settled the panther-skin and head-gear.

A third servant was handing him the crosier, the insignia of his dignity as a prelate, when a priest entered and announced the scribe Pentaur.

Ameni nodded, and the young priest who had talked with the princess Bent-Anat at the temple-gate came into the room.

Pentaur knelt and kissed the hand of the prelate, who gave him his blessing, and in a clear sweet voice, and rather formal and unfamiliar language—­as if he were reading rather than speaking, said: 

“Rise, my son; your visit will save me a walk at this untimely hour, since you can inform me of what disturbs the disciples in our temple.  Speak.”

“Little of consequence has occurred, holy father,” replied Pentaur.  “Nor would I have disturbed thee at this hour, but that a quite unnecessary tumult has been raised by the youths; and that the princess Bent-Anat appeared in person to request the aid of a physician.  The unusual hour and the retinue that followed her—­”

“Is the daughter of Pharaoh sick?” asked the prelate.

“No, father.  She is well—­even to wantonness, since—­wishing to prove the swiftness of her horses—­she ran over the daughter of the paraschites Pinem.  Noble-hearted as she is, she herself carried the sorely-wounded girl to her house.”

“She entered the dwelling of the unclean.”

“Thou hast said.”

“And she now asks to be purified?”

“I thought I might venture to absolve her, father, for the purest humanity led her to the act, which was no doubt a breach of discipline, but—­”