Uarda’s father, who had learned every path and bridge in Syria, accompanied the poet, while the physician Nebsecht remained with the ladies, whose good star seemed to have deserted them with Pentaur’s departure, for the violent winter rains which fell in the mountains of Samaria destroyed the roads, soaked through the tents, and condemned them frequently to undesirable delays.  At Megiddo they were received with high honors by the commandant of the Egyptian garrison, and they were compelled to linger here some days, for Nefert, who had been particularly eager to hurry forward, was taken ill, and Nebsecht was obliged to forbid her proceeding at this season.

Uarda grew pale and thoughtful, and Bent-Anat saw with anxiety that the tender roses were fading from the cheeks of her pretty favorite; but when she questioned her as to what ailed her she gave an evasive answer.  She had never either mentioned Rameri’s name before the princess, nor shown her her mother’s jewel, for she felt as if all that had passed between her and the prince was a secret which did not belong to her alone.  Yet another reason sealed her lips.  She was passionately devoted to Bent-Anat, and she told herself that if the princess heard it all, she would either blame her brother or laugh at his affection as at a child’s play, and she felt as if in that case she could not love Rameri’s sister any more.

A messenger had been sent on from the first frontier station to the king’s camp to enquire by which road the princess, and her party should leave Megiddo.  But the emissary returned with a short and decided though affectionate letter written by the king’s own hand, to his daughter, desiring her not to quit Megiddo, which was a safe magazine and arsenal for the army, strongly fortified and garrisoned, as it commanded the roads from the sea into North and Central Palestine.  Decisive encounters, he said, were impending, and she knew that the Egyptians always excluded their wives and daughters from their war train, and regarded them as the best reward of victory when peace was obtained.

While the ladies were waiting in Megiddo, Pentaur and his red-bearded guide proceeded northwards with a small mounted escort, with which they were supplied by the commandant of Hebron.

He himself rode with dignity, though this journey was the first occasion on which he had sat on horseback.  He seemed to have come into the world with the art of riding born with him.  As soon as he had learned from his companions how to grasp the bridle, and had made himself familiar with the nature of the horse, it gave him the greatest delight to tame and subdue a fiery steed.

He had left his priest’s robes in Egypt.  Here he wore a coat of mail, a sword, and battle-axe like a warrior, and his long beard, which had grown during his captivity, now flowed down over his breast.  Uarda’s father often looked at him with admiration, and said: 

“One might think the Mohar, with whom I often travelled these roads, had risen from the dead.  He looked like you, he spoke like you, he called the men as you do, nay he sat as you do when the road was too bad for his chariot,