Theckla sighed, but her reverence for Apis and for all of his mysteries was utterly gone forever. CHAPTER X. FAITH AND PHILOSOPHY. During the time that Arius and Theckla had been absent at the hermitage of Am-nem-hat, a great change had occurred in the condition of the Egyptian lady, Hatasa, at the Baucalis cottage. Early in the morning she had fallen into a profound slumber, but before noon she had awakened suddenly, and in a moment afterward the whole house was filled with her bitter wailing. All at once the terrible sense of loss had overwhelmed her mind with impassioned force, and in heart-broken tones she repeated the name of her husband over and over again, and momently called aloud for "Theckla, darling Theckla! Where is my daughter, my only child?" Then with great tenderness Arete told her that Theckla was well and happy, and would soon return with her own son, with whom she had gone to visit a near neighbor. The poor woman’s grief seemed hopeless and unendurable. At one moment she would yearningly lament the loss of her husband, and at the next reproach the gods of Egypt with his destruction, and then, perhaps, pray to them in tones of hopeless supplication. "O Ra and Thoth!" she cried, "ye murderous, heartless gods, that have so cruelly bereft me, have pity upon Amosis, whom ye have snatched away to the under-world! O merciless and fearful Ma-t, that hast never had compassion upon any mortal, thou terrible Two Truths in thy dark halls sitting, unmoved by sorrow or pain, in the gloom of mournful Amenti, soften once thy stony heart, that thou mayst feel the sharpness of our earthly woe, so that thou judge not mine Amosis until I have builded his sarcophagus. O thou Hesiri-Hes! that cometh nearer to our human life than other dreadful deities, restore my husband’s body to the land, that with due honors and uncounted cost I yet may have his mummy-rites prepared to smooth his pathway through the under-world!" Then, seeming to realize the uselessness of any prayer in the absence of the ceremonies of a funeral, she moaned in hopeless grief: "O terrible! to be cut off in youth, with no sarcophagus builded, and no mummy-cloth--cast off alone and friendless, into the darkness of Amenti! O fearful fate! to be called up for judgment, like a pauper, before the merciless, unsparing Ma-t!" And so she would cry, as loudly as her feebleness permitted, until exhausted nature enforced silence upon her wailing lips. "She calleth upon the ancient, fearful gods of Kem," said old Thopt, in a half-terrified whisper to Arete. "She is without God and without hope in the world," whispered Arete. "May the compassionate Lord pity her and bring unto her the consolations of his grace!" "My heart weeps for her," whispered old Thopt; "for the Egyptians are not as the Christians are. They have a shuddering horror of death, and it is to them the sum of all possible wretchedness."