“I will go with you,” said Rameri.

“You, Nefert—­stay here,” said Bent-Anat, “and cut as many flowers as you like; take the best and finest, and make a wreath, and when it is ready we will send a messenger across to lay it, with other gifts, on the grave of your Mena’s mother.”

When, half-an-hour later, the brother and sister returned to the young wife, two graceful garlands hung in Nefert’s bands, one for the grave of the dead queen, and one for Mena’s mother.

“I will carry over the wreaths, and lay them in the tombs,” cried the prince.

“Ani thought it would be better that we should not show ourselves to the people,” said his sister.  “They will scarcely notice that you are not among the school-boys, but—­”

“But I will not go over as the king’s son, but as a gardener’s boy—­” interrupted the prince.  “Listen to the flourish of trumpets! the God has now passed through the gates.”

Rameri stepped out into the balcony, and the two women followed him, and looked down on the scene of the embarkation which they could easily see with their sharp young eyes.

“It will be a thinner and poorer procession without either my father or us, that is one comfort,” said Rameri.  “The chorus is magnificent; here come the plume-bearers and singers; there is the chief prophet at the great temple, old Bek-en-Chunsu.  How dignified he looks, but he will not like going.  Now the God is coming, for I, smell the incense.”

With these words the prince fell on his knees, and the women followed his example—­when they saw first a noble bull in whose shining skin the sun was reflected, and who bore between his horns a golden disk, above which stood white ostrich-feathers; and then, divided from the bull only by a few fan-bearers, the God himself, sometimes visible, but more often hidden from sight by great semi-circular screens of black and white ostrich-feathers, which were fixed on long poles, and with which the priests shaded the God.

His mode of progress was as mysterious as his name, for he seemed to float slowly on his gorgeous throne from the temple-gates towards the stream.  His seat was placed on a platform, magnificently decorated with bunches and garlands of flowers, and covered with hangings of purple and gold brocade, which concealed the priests who bore it along with a slow and even pace.

As soon as the God had been placed on board his barge, Bent-Anat and her companions rose from their knees.

Then came some priests, who carried a box with the sacred evergreen tree of Amon; and when a fresh outburst of music fell on her ear, and a cloud of incense was wafted up to her, Bent-Anat said:  “Now my father should be coming.”

“And you,” cried Rameri, “and close behind, Nefert’s husband, Mena, with the guards.  Uncle Ani comes on foot.  How strangely he has dressed himself like a sphinx hind-part before!”

“How so?” asked Nefert.