To the old man she had never ceased to be the lovely child whom he had known, the apple of his eye and the joy of his heart. So he gazed with tender anxiety at the features convulsed by pain and, when she at last opened her eyes, smiled at her with paternal affection. Her glance showed that she instantly recognized both him and Ephraim, but weakness baffled her attempt to nod to them. Yet her expressive face revealed surprise and joy, and when Miriam had given her the cordial a third time and bathed her brow with a powerful essence, her large eyes wandered from face to face and, noticing the troubled looks of the men, she managed to whisper: “The wound aches--and death--must I die?” One looked enquiringly at another, and the men would gladly have concealed the terrible truth; but she went on: “Oh, let me know. Ah, I pray you, tell me the truth!” Miriam, who was kneeling beside her, found courage to answer: “Yes, you poor young creature, the wound is deep, but whatever my skill can accomplish shall be done to preserve your life as long as possible.” The words sounded kind and full of compassion, yet the deep voice of the prophetess seemed to hurt Kasana; for her lips quivered painfully while Miriam was speaking, and when she ceased, her eyes closed and one large tear after another ran down her cheeks. Deep, anxious silence reigned around her until she again raised her lashes and, fixing her eyes wearily on Miriam, asked softly, as if perplexed by some strange spectacle: “You are a woman, and yet practise the art of the leech.” “My God has commanded me to care for the suffering ones of our people,” replied the other. The dying girl’s eyes began to glitter with a restless light, and she gasped in louder tones, nay with a firmness that surprised the others: “You are Miriam, the woman who sent for Hosea.” And when the other answered promptly and proudly: “It is as you say!” Kasana continued: “And you possess striking, imperious beauty, and much influence. He obeyed your summons, and you--you consented to wed another?” Again the prophetess answered, this time with gloomy earnestness: “It is as you say.” The dying girl closed her eyes once more, and a strange proud smile hovered around her lips. But it soon vanished and a great and painful restlessness seized upon her. The fingers of her little hands, her lips, nay, even her eyelids moved perpetually, and her smooth, narrow forehead contracted as if some great thought occupied her mind. At last the ideas that troubled her found utterance and, as if roused from her repose, she exclaimed in terrified accents: “You are Ephraim, who seemed like his son, and the old man is Nun, his dear father. There you stand and will live on.... But I--I... Oh, it is so hard to leave the light.... Anubis will lead me before the judgment seat of Osiris. My heart will be weighed, and then....”