"You shall hear from me after the battle. If we defeat and pursue Occhoris, we shall return to Memphis soon. If we are defeated and driven back upon Thebes—which the great God of battles forbid!—I know not how long the campaign will continue. I hope my mother, the queen, is well. Convey to her my most respectful and tender remembrances, and receive from me, beloved prince, the assurances of my personal regard and friendship.
Remeses."
In the mean while, my dear mother, until I have further news from Prince Remeses, I will give you an account of the conversation I held with the papyrus-copier and decorator, Miriam, the Hebrewess.
"You are wonderfully skilled in the art," I said to her, as I surveyed the piece before her, which she said was the commencement of a copy of a funeral ritual for the priests of Athor.
"I have been many years engaged in transcribing," she answered with modest dignity, without raising her eyes to my face.
"I have not seen you before in the palace, though I have often been in this hall," I said, feeling awakened in me an interest to learn more of the extraordinary people who toil for the crown of Egypt, and whose ancestors have been princes.
"I have been at Raamses for a few days. My mother was ill, and I hastened to her."
"I hope your return is a proof of her recovery," I said kindly.
She raised her splendid eyes to my face, with a look in them of surprise. If I interpreted aright their meaning, it was, "Can this prince take any interest in the welfare of a Hebrew woman?" Seeing that my own eyes encountered hers with a look of friendly concern, she spoke, and said:
"She is better."