“Nefert has left Katuti’s house, and as thou knowest has followed thy daughter, Bent-Anat, to the sacred mountain, and to Megiddo.”

“I thought the change was a good one,” replied Rameses.  “I leave Bent-Anat in the care of Bent-Anat, for she needs no other guardianship, and your wife can have no better protector than Bent-Anat.”

“Certainly not!” exclaimed Mena with sincere emphasis.  “But before they started, miserable things occurred.  Thou knowest that before she married me she was betrothed to her cousin, the pioneer Paaker, and he, during his stay in Thebes, has gone in and out of my house, has helped Katuti with an enormous sum to pay the debts of my wild brother-in-law, and-as my stud-keeper saw with his own eyes-has made presents of flowers to Nefert.”

The king smiled, laid his hand on Mena’s shoulder, and said, as he looked in his face:  “Your wife will trust you, although you take a strange woman into your tent, and you allow yourself to doubt her because her cousin gives her some flowers!  Is that wise or just?  I believe you are jealous of the broad-shouldered ruffian that some spiteful Wight laid in the nest of the noble Mohar, his father.”

“No, that I am not,” replied Mena, “nor does any doubt of Nefert disturb my soul; but it torments me, it nettles me, it disgusts me, that Paaker of all men, whom I loathe as a venomous spider, should look at her and make her presents under my very roof.”

“He who looks for faith must give faith,” said the king.  “And must not I myself submit to accept songs of praise from the most contemptible wretches?  Come—­smooth your brow; think of the approaching victory, of our return home, and remember that you have less to forgive Paaker than he to forgive you.  Now, pray go and see to the horses, and to-morrow morning let me see you on my chariot full of cheerful courage—­as I love to see you.”

Mena left the tent, and went to the stables; there he met Rameri, who was waiting to speak to him.  The eager boy said that he had always looked up to him and loved him as a brilliant example, but that lately he had been perplexed as to his virtuous fidelity, for he had been informed that Mena had taken a strange woman into his tent—­he who was married to the fairest and sweetest woman in Thebes.

“I have known her,” he concluded, “as well as if I were her brother; and I know that she would die if she heard that you had insulted and disgraced her.  Yes, insulted her; for such a public breach of faith is an insult to the wife of an Egyptian.  Forgive my freedom of speech, but who knows what to-morrow may bring forth—­and I would not for worlds go out to battle, thinking evil of you.”

Mena let Rameri speak without interruption, and then answered: 

“You are as frank as your father, and have learned from him to hear the defendant before you condemn him.  A strange maiden, the daughter of the king of the Danaids,