The Prince could not speak.  He sank on his knees beside the bed and buried his face in her bosom.  Here silence was more profound and spoke deeper wisdom and contentment than ever words could do; how long he remained in this humble attitude and poured forth his gratefulness in prayer he knew not; but when he arose the Princess was sleeping quietly, the breathing, though feeble, was deeper and more even.  He gently crossed her hands upon her bosom, adjusted the clothing carefully and left her side, full of a new hope he had had for many days.  Life again appeared in all its glory, not a shadow appeared upon its horizon; weariness and anxiety forsook him and he went about as if walking on air, but not a word escaped his lips—­nor an act betrayed his new-born joy.

When the nurses returned they at once remarked the change in the Princess.  They, too, became hopeful and assured the husband that his wife would soon be well.  The Princess recovered rapidly, and it was not long before her gentle presence and noble influence shed its effulgence in the home as she moved about it.

As soon as Rathunor could spare the time from Nu-nah’s side he sent the Natal hour of his first-born to the Astrologer Priest.  Anxiously did he await the reading of the stars and what they indicated for his child.  The calculations were made, the judgment submitted in writing, but “Shall I transmit them to the Prince and Princess, can they yet receive and philosophically accept the revelations therein made?”

He left the study-room and repaired to the apartments of the High Priest to seek advice and instructions.  Then, by the exercise of his potent will, he made the necessary observations to see if it were wise to convey the knowledge of the predictions to his children, Nu-nah and Rathunor.

“Not yet will we send the reading.  Our Nu-nah has not sufficiently recovered to bear any unpleasant news.”

Rathunor became impatient and thought, at times, he would write again—­the letter must have been lost—­but something withheld him.  At last strange forebodings haunted him.  He knew too well the promptness of the Astrologer Priest; there must be something that could not be revealed to Nu-nah.  He thought he was strong enough to bear resignedly all that might come, but when it did come all his forebodings had not prepared him to receive it.  It was only a letter—­no calculations—­no reading, as indicated by the stars, was in it.  The letter had been dictated by the Priest and transcribed by the scribe Hermo, and read thus: 

“Our darling children, Rathunor and Nu-nah, bear bravely the news I now impart to you.  Your first born, the offspring of true inspiration and soul-love, can not remain with you long in the physical form.  The stars deny a prolonged life, and my interior knowledge of the planetary influence, also tells me his life upon our Earth’s plane will be of short duration.  His already matured soul does not need much of Earth’s experience to round