“That Uarda can tell you by and by,” said the little one hurriedly.  “Now only listen.  She laid me on my board in the cave, and threw a sack over me, and first came Nemu, and then another man, whom she spoke to as Steward.  She talked to him a long time.  At first I did not listen, but then I caught the name of Pentaur, and I got my head out, and now I understand it all.  The steward declared that the good Pentaur was wicked, and stood in his way, and he said that Ameni was going to send him to the quarries at Chennu, but that that was much too small a punishment.  Then Hekt advised him to give a secret commission to the captain of the ship to go beyond Chennu, to the frightful mountain-mines, of which she has often told me, for her father and her brother were tormented to death there.”

“None ever return from thence,” said the prince.  “But go on.”

“What came next, I only half understood, but they spoke of some drink that makes people mad.  Oh! what I see and hear!—­I would he contentedly on my board all my life long, but all else is too horrible—­I wish that I were dead.”

And the child began to cry bitterly.

Uarda, whose cheeks had turned pale, patted him affectionately; but Rameri exclaimed: 

“It is frightful! unheard of!  But who was the steward? did you not hear his name?  Collect yourself, little man, and stop crying.  It is a case of life and death.  Who was the scoundrel?  Did she not name him?  Try to remember.”

Scherau bit his red lips, and tried for composure.  His tears ceased, and suddenly he exclaimed, as he put his hand into the breast of his ragged little garment:  “Stay, perhaps you will know him again—­I made him!”

“You did what?” asked the prince.

“I made him,” repeated the little artist, and he carefully brought out an object wrapped up in a scrap of rag, “I could just see his head quite clearly from one side all the time he was speaking, and my clay lay by me.  I always must model something when my mind is excited, and this time I quickly made his face, and as the image was successful, I kept it about me to show to the master when Hekt was out.”

While he spoke he had carefully unwrapped the figure with trembling fingers, and had given it to Uarda.

“Ani!” cried the prince.  “He, and no other!  Who could have thought it!  What spite has he against Pentaur?  What is the priest to him?”

For a moment he reflected, then he struck his hand against his forehead.

“Fool that I am!” he exclaimed vehemently.  “Child that I am! of course, of course; I see it all.  Ani asked for Bent-Anat’s hand, and she—­now that I love you, Uarda, I understand what ails her.  Away with deceit!  I will tell you no more lies, Uarda.  I am no page of honor to Bent-Anat; I am her brother, and king Rameses’ own son.  Do not cover your face with your hands, Uarda, for if I had not seen your mother’s jewel, and if I were not only a prince, but Horus himself, the son of Isis, I must have loved you, and would not have given you up.  But now other things have to be done besides lingering with you; now I will show you that I am a man, now that Pentaur is to be saved.  Farewell, Uarda, and think of me!”