But something yet remains to be said.
I know that I am wasting the time that thou dost devote to thy family, and I remember thy saying once that here in Thebes thou wert like a pack-Horse with his load taken off, and free to wander over a green meadow.

I will not disturb thee much longer--but the Gods sent me such a wonderful vision.

Paaker would not listen to me, and I went back into my room full of sorrow; and when at last, after the sun had risen, I fell asleep for a few minutes, I dreamed I saw before me the poet Pentaur, who is wonderfully like my dead husband in appearance and in voice.

Paaker went up to him, and abused him violently, and threatened him with his fist; the priest raised his arms in prayer, just as I saw him yesterday at the festival--but not in devotion, but to seize Paaker, and wrestle with him.

The struggle did not last long, for Paaker seemed to shrink up, and lost his human form, and fell at the poet's feet--not my son, but a shapeless lump of clay such as the potter uses to make jars of." "A strange dream!" exclaimed Ameni, not without agitation.