“It is settled—I must go,” said the princess. “Oh! if only my father were not so far off, and that I could consult him!”
“Yes! the war, and always the war!” sighed Nefert. “Why do not men rest content with what they have, and prefer the quiet peace, which makes life lovely, to idle fame?”
“Would they be men? should we love them?” cried Bent-Anat eagerly. “Is not the mind of the Gods, too, bent on war? Did you ever see a more sublime sight than Pentaur, on that evening when he brandished the stake he had pulled up, and exposed his life to protect an innocent girl who was in danger?”
“I dared not once look down into the court,” said Nefert. “I was in such an agony of mind. But his loud cry still rings in my ears.”
“So rings the war cry of heroes before whom the enemy quails!” exclaimed Bent-Anat.
“Aye, truly so rings the war cry!” said prince Rameri, who had entered his sister’s half-dark room unperceived by the two women.
The princess turned to the boy. “How you frightened me!” she said.
“You!” said Rameri astonished.
“Yes, me. I used to have a stout heart, but since that evening I frequently tremble, and an agony of terror comes over me, I do not know why. I believe some demon commands me.”
“You command, wherever you go; and no one commands you,” cried Rameri. “The excitement and tumult in the valley, and on the quay, still agitate you. I grind my teeth myself when I remember how they turned me out of the school, and how Paaker set the dog at us. I have gone through a great deal today too.”