I cared no more for my own life, and to save the child I would have slain thousands." "Your eyes sparkle," said Ameni, "as if you had performed some heroic feat; and yet the men you killed were only unarmed and pious citizens, who were roused to indignation by a gross and shameless outrage.

I cannot conceive whence the warrior-spirit should have fallen on a gardener's son--and a minister of the Gods." "It is true," answered Pentaur, "when the crowd rushed upon me, and I drove them back, putting out all my strength, I felt something of the warlike rage of the soldier, who repulses the pressing foe from the standard committed to his charge.

It was sinful in a priest, no doubt, and I will repent of it--but I felt it." "You felt it--and you will repent of it, well and good," replied Ameni.
"But you have not given a true account of all that happened.

Why have you concealed that Bent-Anat--Rameses' daughter--was mixed up in the fray, and that she saved you by announcing her name to the people, and commanding them to leave you alone?
When you gave her the lie before all the people, was it because you did not believe that it was Bent-Anat?
Now, you who stand so firmly on so high a platform--now you standard-bearer of the truth answer me." Pentaur had turned pale at his master's words, and said, as he looked at the Regent: "We are not alone." "Truth is one!" said Ameni coolly.

"What you can reveal to me, can also be heard by this noble lord, the Regent of the king himself.