He did not hear a light step, that came near to him, and died away again, he did not feel that the sun began to cast fierce beams on him, and on the porphyry cliff behind him, he did not see a woman now coming quickly towards him; but, like a deaf man who has suddenly acquired the sense of hearing, he started when he heard his name spoken—by whose lips?
“Pentaur!” she said again; the poet opened his arms, and Bent-Anat fell upon his breast; and he held her to him, clasped, as though he must hold her there and never part from her all his life long.
Meanwhile the princess’s companions were resting by the hunter’s little house.
“She flew into his arms—I saw it,” said Uarda. “Never shall I forget it. It was as if the bright lake there had risen up to embrace the mountain.”
“Where do you find such fancies, child?” cried Nefert.
“In my heart, deep in my heart!” cried Uarda. “I am so unspeakably happy.”
“You saved him and rewarded him for his goodness; you may well be happy.”
“It is not only that,” said Uarda. “I was in despair, and now I see that the Gods are righteous and loving.”
Mena’s wife nodded to her, and said with a sigh:
“They are both happy!”