Psamtik listened as if turned into stone; his father continued; “Thy mother died in giving birth to thee; fiery-red hair, the mark of the sons of Typhon, grew around thy brow; thou becam’st a gloomy man.  Misfortune pursued thee and robbed thee of a beloved wife and four of thy children.  The astrologers computed that even as I had been born under the fortunate sign of Amman, so thy birth had been watched over by the rise of the awful planet Seb.  Thou . . .”  But here Amasis broke off, for Psamtik, in the anguish produced by these fearful disclosures had given way, and with sobs and groans, cried: 

“Cease, cruel father! spare me at least the bitter words, that I am the only son in Egypt who is hated by his father without cause!”

Amasis looked down on the wretched man who had sunk to the earth before him, his face hidden in the folds of his robe, and the father’s wrath was changed to compassion.  He thought of Psamtik’s mother, dead forty years before, and felt he had been cruel in inflicting this poisonous wound on her son’s soul.  It was the first time for years, that he had been able to feel towards this cold strange man, as a father and a comforter.  For the first time he saw tears in the cold eyes of his son, and could feel the joy of wiping them away.  He seized the opportunity at once, and bending clown over the groaning form, kissed his forehead, raised him from the ground and said gently: 

“Forgive my anger, my son! the words that have grieved thee came not from my heart, but were spoken in the haste of wrath.  Many years hast thou angered me by thy coldness, hardness and obstinacy; to-day thou hast wounded me again in my most sacred feelings; this hurried me into an excess of wrath.  But now all is right between us.  Our natures are so diverse that our innermost feelings will never be one, but at least we can act in concert for the future, and show forbearance one towards the other.”

In silence Psamtik bowed down and kissed his father’s robe “Not so,” exclaimed the latter; “rather let my lips receive thy kiss, as is meet and fitting between father and son!  Thou needest not to think again of the evil dream I have related.  Dreams are phantoms, and even if sent by the gods, the interpreters thereof are human and erring.  Thy hand trembles still, thy cheeks are white as thy robe.  I was hard towards thee, harder than a father. . . .”

“Harder than a stranger to strangers,” interrupted his son.  “Thou hast crushed and broken me, and if till now my face has seldom worn a smile, from this day forward it can be naught but a mirror of my inward misery.”

“Not so,” said Amasis, laying his hand on his son’s shoulder.  “If I wound, I can also heal.  Tell me the dearest wish of thy heart, it shall be granted thee!”

Psamtik’s eyes flashed, his sallow cheeks glowed for a moment, and he answered without consideration, though in a voice still trembling from the shock he had just received:  “Deliver Phanes, my enemy, into my power!”