"What was in your mind when you laid your wreath on the poet's brow?"

"What is in every maiden's mind when she does the like," replied Bent-
Anat with trustful frankness.

"And your father?" asked the king.

"My father knows that I will obey him even if he demands of me the
hardest thing--the sacrifice of all my--happiness; but I believe that he
--that you love me fondly, and I do not forget the hour in which you said
to me that now my mother was dead you would be father and mother both to
me, and you would try to understand me as she certainly would have
understood me. But what need between us of so many words. I love
Pentaur--with a love that is not of yesterday--with the first perfect
love of my heart and he has proved himself worthy of that high honor.
But were he ever so humble, the hand of your daughter has the power to
raise him above every prince in the land."

"It has such power, and you shall exercise it," cried the king. "You
have been true and faithful to yourself, while your father and protector
left you to yourself. In you I love the image of your mother, and I
learned from her that a true woman's heart can find the right path better
than a man's wisdom. Now go to rest, and to-morrow morning put on a
fresh wreath, for you will have need of it, my noble daughter."