"And didst thou also know the wise and pious Raph-nath, high-priest of that temple, who died there some fifteen years ago?"
"Yea, verily, I remember him quite well."
"He and I were boys, at Thebes, in the great temple together. All his lifetime we were friends. When he felt that his physical powers were failing, and that the end of his long and holy life was fast approaching, he sent unto me to come to him and spend his last days with him; and so it happened that I was at Alexandria when the ancient high-priest died. We did talk much and often of our long religious lives; much, of our learned ignorance; much, of the destiny of the human soul; much, of the truth. When I did ask of him whether he had any special request to make concerning his own funeral rites, he answered me in some such words as these: 'Nay, my brother. Let the obsequies be simply conducted, but in accordance with the rites and ceremonies prescribed for a priest's funeral by 'The Book of the Dead.' For although both thou and I be well aware that the sarcophagus is naught, and the mummy naught, and that no rites nor ceremonies which men can devise in any way concern the soul after death, yet, because the law and order system of Kem hath been for so many centuries built up on these vain things, I desire that the usual forms be all observed at mine own funeral. Although surely no high-priest of Egypt ought to think that it can make any difference to the soul how, or when, or by what means, a man may depart this life, or whether any funeral rites are paid or not; for thou knowest that the true purpose of religion is to control the living, and that the dead are far beyond the reach of human agencies.'
"'On what, then, dependeth thy soul's condition in the other world?' I said.
"'Surely,' he said, 'upon nothing that any priest can do or leave undone, but upon whether the man hath done his duties well according to the best of his faith and knowledge.'
"And afterward, and almost in the hour of his dissolution, I said unto him again, 'Brother, how farest thou?' And he answered me, saying: 'The light of life within me burneth low and flickereth. It will soon go out. But I fare well and peacefully.'
"'And thou hast no fear of awful Ma-t, my brother, and of the silent hall wherein the Two Truths judge the dead?'
"And smilingly he answered me: 'Nay, Brother Am-nem-hat. No man attaineth to the high-priesthood in Egypt without having learned that the things of which thou speakest are for the people--not for the higher priests--part of the system which we administer, not final truths for us. For I know, as thou also knowest, that above and beyond the grand Egyptian triads, there must be some supreme God over all whom we ignorantly worship; who is patient because he is eternal, and merciful because he is all-wise; and having all these years discharged, as faithfully as human frailties might permit, every duty that came under my hand, I look away above the gods of Kem, and trust myself unshrinkingly in the hands of the unknown God, in whom we both believe.' And, almost in the same moment, the old man quietly departed.--Daughter, for thee and for thy great sorrow there is no consolation in the religion of Egypt. All of the consolation I can offer is to tell thee plainly that the things which the high-priest Raph-nath declared unto me upon his bed of death are true; and, as the sum of all my learning and priestly life, I say unto thee that thou canst do nothing else for thyself, nor for thy husband, nor for any human soul, except to cast thyself and him upon the mercy of the unknown God, hoping and believing that all is for the best."
The old man's voice was tremulous, and his grand, pure face was full of compassion as he uttered these words in tones of inexpressible and uncomplaining sadness, and with impressive earnestness.
"And this is all?" she cried--"all that the old religion of Kem, stripped of its outward, ornate forms and ceremonies, has to offer to the broken-hearted?"