replied Nemu quickly.

"You see," said the witch laughing, "Indeed it must be so. That mother
always thinks of herself first, and of the objects she wishes to gain;
but they hang high, and she treads down everything that is in her way--
even her own child--to reach them. She will contrive that Paaker shall
be the ruin of Mena, as sure as I have ears to hear with, for that woman
is capable of playing any tricks with her daughter, and would marry her
to that lame dog yonder if it would advance her ambitious schemes."

"But Nefert!" said Nemu. "You should have seen her. The dove became a
lioness."

"Because she loves Mena as much as her mother loves herself," answered
Hekt. "As the poets say, 'she is full of him.' It is really true of
her, there is no room for any thing else. She cares for one only, and
woe to those who come between him and her!"

"I have seen other women in love," said Nemu, "but--"

"But," exclaimed the old witch with such a sharp laugh that the girls all
looked up, "they behaved differently to Nefert--I believe you, for there
is not one in a thousand that loves as she does. It is a sickness that
gives raging pain--like a poisoned arrow in an open wound, and devours
all that is near it like a fire-brand, and is harder to cure than the
disease which is killing that coughing wench. To be possessed by that
demon of anguish is to suffer the torture of the damned--or else," and
her voice sank to softness, "to be more blest than the Gods, happy as
they are. I know--I know it all; for I was once one of the possessed,
one of a thousand, and even now--"