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." Her voice had a mellow and rich cadence in it, wholly different from the low, silvery tones with which the Egyptian ladies speak. "I rejoice with you," I said. She slowly shook her superb head, about which the jet-black hair was bound in a profusion of braids. There were tones in her voice, too, that again recalled Prince Remeses. Hence the secret of the interest that I took in conversing with her. "Why do you shake your head?" I asked. "Why should the Hebrew wish to prolong life?" She said this in a tone of deep emotion, but continued her occupation, which was now copying a leaf of brilliantly colored hieroglyphic inscriptions into the sort of running-hand the Egyptians make use of in ordinary intercourse. There are three modes of tracing the characters of this system of writing; and scribes adopt one, which, while it takes the hieroglyph for its copy, represents it by a few strokes that often bear, to the uninitiated eye, no resemblance to the model. This mode the Hebrewess was making use of, writing it with ease and elegance. "Life to you, in this palace, under such a gentle mistress as Osiria, cannot be bitter." "I have no want. I am treated here as if I were not of the race of the Hebrews. But, my lord," she said, elevating slightly her noble-toned voice, though not raising her eyes, "I am not so selfish, believe me, as to have no thought beyond my own personal comfort. How can I be happy, even amid all the kindness I experience in this virtuous family, when my heart is oppressed with the bondage of my people? Thou art but a stranger in Egypt, O prince,--for I have heard of thee, and who thou art,--and yet thou hast seen and felt for my people!" "I have, indeed, seen their misery and toil; but how didst thou know it?"