But, hark! singing--and the voice a woman's--or an angel's! It comes this way." Down the lake towards the dower came a woman singing.

Her voice floated along the hushed water melodious as a flute, and louder growing each instant.

Directly the dipping of oars was heard in slow measure; a little later the words were distinguishable--words in purest Greek, best fitted of all the tongues of the day for the expression of passionate grief.
THE LAMENT.
(Egyptian.) I sigh as I sing for the story land Across the Syrian sea.
The odorous winds from the musky sand Were breaths of life to me.
They play with the plumes of the whispering palm For me, alas! no more; Nor more does the Nile in the moonlit calm Moan past the Memphian shore.
O Nilus! thou god of my fainting soul! In dreams thou comest to me; And, dreaming, I play with the lotus bowl, And sing old songs to thee; And hear from afar the Memnonian strain, And calls from dear Simbel; And wake to a passion of grief and pain That e'er I said--Farewell! At the conclusion of the song the singer was past the cluster of palms.

The last word--farewell--floated past Ben-Hur weighted with all the sweet sorrow of parting.

The passing of the boat was as the passing of a deeper shadow into the deeper night.
Ben-Hur drew a long breath hardly distinguishable from a sigh.
"I know her by the song--the daughter of Balthasar.