“Poor child!” she said, “was your treasure destroyed in the flames?”

“No, no,” cried Uarda eagerly.  “I snatched it out of my chest and held it in my hand when Nebsecht took me in his arms, and I still had it in my hand when I was lying safe on the ground outside the burning house, and Bent-Anat was close to me, and Rameri came up.  I remember seeing him as if I were in a dream, and I revived a little, and I felt the jewel in my fingers then.”

“Then it was dropped on the way to the tent?” said Nefert.

Uarda nodded; little Scherau, who had been crouching on the floor beside her, gave Uarda a loving glance, dimmed with tears, and quietly slipped out of the tent.

Time went by in silence; Uarda sat looking at the ground, Nefert and Mena held each other’s hands, but the thoughts of all three were with the dead.  A perfect stillness reigned, and the happiness of the reunited couple was darkly overshadowed by their sorrow.  From time to time the silence was broken by a trumpet-blast from the royal tent; first when the Asiatic princes were introduced into the Council-tent, then when the Danaid king departed, and lastly when the Pharaoh preceded the conquered princes to the banquet.

The charioteer remembered how his master had restored him to dignity and honor, for the sake of his faithful wife; and gratefully pressed her hand.

Suddenly there was a noise in front of the tent, and an officer entered to announce to Mena that the Danaid king and his daughter, accompanied by body-guard, requested to see and speak with him and Nefert.

The entrance to the tent was thrown wide open.  Uarda retired modestly into the back-ground, and Mena and Nefert went forward hand in hand to meet their unexpected guests.

The Greek prince was an old man, his beard and thick hair were grey, but his movements were youthful and light, though dignified and deliberate.  His even, well-formed features were deeply furrowed, he had large, bright, clear blue eyes, but round his fine lips were lines of care.  Close to him walked his daughter; her long white robe striped with purple was held round her hips by a golden girdle, and her sunny yellow hair fell in waving locks over her neck and shoulders, while it was confined by a diadem which encircled her head; she was of middle height, and her motions were measured and calm like her father’s.  Her brow was narrow, and in one line with her straight nose, her rosy mouth was sweet and kind, and beyond everything beautiful were the lines of her oval face and the turn of her snow-white throat.  By their side stood the interpreter who translated every word of the conversation on both sides.  Behind them came two men and two women, who carried gifts for Mena and his wife.

The prince praised Mena’s magnanimity in the warmest terms.

“You have proved to me,” he said, “that the virtues of gratitude, of constancy, and of faith are practised by the Egyptians; although your merit certainly appears less to me now that I see your wife, for he who owns the fairest may easily forego any taste for the fair.”