"Ay," she answered, "I am Queen of Khem and Pharaoh's wife, but never Pharaoh's love. Honour! Why dost thou prate to me of honour? Like Nile in flood, my love hath burst the bulwark of my honour, and I mark not where custom set it. For all around the waters seethe and foam, and on them, like a broken lily, floats the wreck of my lost honour. Talk not to me of honour, Rei, teach me rather how I may win my hero to my arms."
"Thou art mad indeed," he groaned; "nevertheless--I had forgotten-- this must needs end in words and tears. Meriamun, I bring thee tidings. He whom thou desireth is lost to thee for ever--to thee and all the world."
She heard, then sprang from the couch and stood over him like a lioness over a smitten stag, her fierce and lovely face alive with rage and fear.
"Is he dead?" she hissed in his ear. "Dead! and I knew it not? Then thou hast murdered him, and thus I avenge his murder."
With the word she snatched a dagger from her girdle--that same dagger with which she had once struck at Meneptah her brother, when he would have kissed her--and high it flashed above Rei the Priest.
"Nay," she went on, letting the knife fall; "after another fashion shalt thou die--more slowly, Rei, yes, more slowly. Thou knowest the torment of the palm-tree? By that thou shalt die!" She paused, and stood above him with quivering limbs, and breast that heaved, and eyes that flashed like stars.
"Stay! stay!" he cried. "It is not I who have slain this Wanderer, if he indeed is dead, but his own folly. For he is gone up to look upon the Strange Hathor, and those who look upon the Hathor do battle with the Unseen Swords, and those who do battle with the Unseen Swords must lie in the baths of bronze and seek the Under World."
The face of Meriamun grew white at this word, as the alabaster of the walls, and she cried aloud with a great cry. Then she sank upon the couch, pressing her hand to her brow and moaning:
"How may I save him? How may I save him from that accursed witch?
Alas! It is too late--but at least I will know his end, ay, and hear of the beauty of her who slays him. Rei," she whispered, not in the speech of Khem, but in the dead tongue of a dead people, "be not wrath with me. Oh, have pity on my weakness. Thou knowest of the Putting- forth of the Spirit--is it not so?"
"I am instructed," he answered, in the same speech; "'twas I who taught thee this art, I, and that Ancient Evil which is thine."
"True--it was thou, Rei. Thou hast ever loved me, so thou swearest, and many a deed of dread have we dared together. Lend me thy Spirit, Rei, that I may send it forth to the Temple of the False Hathor, and learn what passes in the temple, and of the death of him--whom I must love."
"An ill deed, Meriamun, and a fearful," he answered, "for there shall my Spirit meet them who watch the gates, and who knows what may chance when the bodiless one that yet hath earthly life meets the bodiless ones who live no more on earth?"
"Yet wilt thou dare it, Rei, for love of me, as being instructed thou alone canst do," she pleaded.
"Never have I refused thee aught, Meriamun, nor will I say thee nay.
