Thus far, my dearest mother, had I written in this letter five days ago, when the chief chamberlain came hastening to my room, in great terror, saying that the queen was dying! I lost not a moment in following him to her apartments. Ever since the meeting of the council she had been growing worse, and all the skill of her physicians could not abate the disease, which was pronounced inflammation of the brain. She had been for two days wildly delirious, calling upon Remeses not to leave her, and accusing the gods of seeking to put upon her a stranger for her own son! At length her ravings and her fever ceased, and she rapidly failed. When I entered, I found Remeses kneeling by her side, his manly head bowed upon her couch, and tears falling upon her cold hand, held in his. Her mind was clear now, but I could see that the azure circle of death girdled her eyes, and that the light of the soul within was expiring. Her whole attention was fixed upon Remeses, to whom she kept saying, in a faint whisper, and with a smile, "My son, my son, my own son! call me mother!" "Mother, O my mother!" he exclaimed, in his strong anguish, "I cannot part with thee! Thou hast been a mother to me indeed!" As I entered, her gaze turned towards me. "It is the Prince of Tyre! I thought it was the others!" "What others, my mother?" asked Remeses. "They will soon come. I commanded him to bring them all. I must see them ere I die. But the Prince of Tyre is welcome!" And she smiled upon me, and gave me her other hand to kiss. It was cold as ivory! I also knelt by her, and sorrowfully watched her sharpening features, which the chisel of Death seemed shaping into the marble majesty of a god. At this moment the door opened, and I saw, ushered in by a Hebrew page, the venerable head gardener, Amram; the young Hebrew ecclesiastic; Miriam the papyrus writer; and, leaning upon her arm, a dignified and still beautiful dame of fifty-five. I could not be mistaken--this last was the mother of Remeses. "Cause all persons to go forth the chamber," cried the queen at the sight, her voice recovering in part its strength. She glanced at me to remain. "Come hither, Amram," she said, "and lead to my bedside thy wife. Remeses, behold thy mother and father! Mother, embrace thy son! Since he can be no longer mine, I will return him to thee forever!" Her voice was veiled with tears. Remeses rose, and turning to his mother, who looked worthy of him, said: "My mother, I acknowledge thee to be my mother! Give me thy blessing, as thou hast often done in my infancy." He tenderly and respectfully embraced her, and then pressing his father's hand to his lips, he knelt before them. They were deeply moved, and instead of blessing him, wept upon him with silent joy.