A prolonged moan of anguish escaped the unfortunate woman’s lips: she turned to the high priest and very calmly she asked:
“Ur-tasen, why dost thou put this torture to my soul? Speak! What dost thou want of me?”
“I but want the salvation of thy soul, Maat-kha, seeing how grievously thou hast sinned. I but wish to adjure thee to think of the vengeance of the gods.”
“I will think of that by-and-by,” she said, “now…”
“Now thou dost think only of what thou hast lost and what Neit-akrit has gained.”
“No, no, no, no! Ur-tasen, no! thou dost not know of what thou speakest. See! I will drag myself on my knees before thee. I will weep both my eyes out for repentance! I will go forth into the valley of death cheerfully and calmly, accepting thy decrees and blessing thy name. I will cause all my wealth, my jewels, my palaces to be left to thee, as thine own property, when I am gone, if thou wilt part my lover and Neit-akrit for ever.”
She had sunk down upon her knees, and laying her pale forehead on the marble floor before the high priest, she beat the ground with her head and kissed the tip of his pointed sandals. I thought the high priest’s face suddenly assumed a satisfied, triumphant expression. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down upon the suppliant at his feet.
“Wilt come up before the image of the goddess, oh, Maat-kha! and at her very feet swear that thou wilt do my bidding, whatsoever I might command?”
She raised her head, and in the dim, flickering light I could see that she darted an inquiring, amazed look upwards at him.
“Dost believe that I am powerful?” he asked.
“I believe that thou dost hate him who is beloved of the gods.”
“Wilt swear to do my bidding?” he repeated.
“Dost wish to harm him?”
“Not unless thou also dost wish it.”
“I love him, Ur-tasen,” she said in truly heart-rending tones.
“Wouldst see him then in the arms of Neit-akrit?”
“I would sooner see him dead at my feet,” she replied, with renewed passion, “slain by my hands, as was my son, the Pharaoh.”
“Swear to do my bidding, Maat-kha, and Neit-akrit will never wed the stranger king.”
She rose slowly to her feet and turned towards the sanctuary of the goddess.
“Lead the way, Ur-tasen,” she said with absolute calm. “I will swear to do thy bidding.”
The sanctuary was at the farther end of the building. Already the high priest, followed by Maat-kha, was rapidly disappearing in the vastness of the temple. Helpless, I looked round me. The conviction had gradually forced itself upon my mind that Ur-tasen
img250.jpg“I will cause all my wealth,… to be left to thee,… if thou wilt part my lover and Neit-akrit forever”
“I will cause all my wealth,… to be left to thee,… if thou wilt part my lover and Neit-akrit forever”
had concocted some evil plan against Hugh, for which he required the co-operation of the Queen. Her terrible unpremeditated act had given him an enormous power over her, and, working upon her mad jealousy, he meant evidently to make her his ally in his nefarious scheme. At any cost I was bound to hear what that man and that woman would say to one another during the next few minutes, and there was the whole length of a vast temple and the thickness of marble gates between me and them. On the floor, beneath the lamp, the livid mask of the dead Pharaoh seemed to grin at my helplessness. It seemed as if, dead, he would be able to wreak that vengeance upon the man he hated which, living, he had never dared accomplish.
Already I could see Maat-kha prostrate before the goddess, with arms stretched upwards, swearing no doubt to add another deadly sin to her crime, and in Ur-tasen’s attitude, standing erect and commanding by her side, there was an unmistakable air of exultant triumph.
There was no question that, from where I was, there could not be the slightest chance of my hearing what those two said. Certain of not being watched, determined to know the extent of the projected evil before I warned Hugh of his danger, I thought of rapidly skirting the temple walls, in the hope of finding some other gate or entrance nearer to the sanctuary from whence I could watch and listen. The precincts of the temple were absolutely deserted, as far as I could see, and, in any case, my feet were shoeless, and the shadows between the pillars were long and dense. I had every chance of slipping round unperceived.
I made slow and very cautious progress. The temple was vast and it took me two or three minutes’ measured creeping before I reached its more distant side. As I had hoped, another gateway, also of marble tracery, led into this part of the temple, and to my delight I found that this gateway was opened sufficiently to allow me to slip inside, which I did.
I found myself, however, not in the temple itself, but in a kind of chamber or passage, I did not know which, for it was very dark. Some five feet from the ground a narrow opening, scarce the width of an arm, in the granite wall, showed beyond it the brilliantly-lighted sanctuary. At first, in looking through this aperture, I could scarcely see, for the dazzling brightness of the innumerable hanging lamps, and the thick fumes of burning herbs, shut everything out from my view. But gradually, as my anxious gaze travelled round, I saw Ur-tasen and Maat-kha not ten feet away from me to my left; but the gossamer curtain hung between the sanctuary and them, and I could only vaguely distinguish their forms. Beyond them I could see nothing but gloom; the dim shadow, which I had fancied to be Princess Neit-akrit, had apparently disappeared, if indeed it had ever been there, and the high priest and the Queen evidently thought themselves alone.
“He often used to evade his attendants at nighttime,” Maat-kha was saying, apparently in answer to a query from the priest, “and wander about aimlessly in the gardens or the palace. I had come into the temple to pray, bidding my women go and leave me in peace for an hour, when suddenly I saw the Pharaoh before me.”
“I know the rest, for I saw and heard all,” replied the high priest, quietly.
“And thou didst not move a finger to save him from death, and thy Queen from a crime ten thousand times worse than any torment?” she exclaimed with a smothered shriek.
“The will of the gods is inscrutable,” he replied calmly. “I am but a servant of all-creating Ra. ’Tis he ordered me to be silent when the holy Pharaoh fell smitten by his mother’s hand. His will must guide thee, too. Thou hast sworn to do my bidding.”
“I will obey,” she said very meekly.
“Listen then to the commands of Ra, of Osiris, and of Horus, of Set, and of Anubis and all the gods in Kamt, whose wrath, if thou disobey, will fall heavily upon thy criminal head. I command thee to go anon, when thy women come to attend upon thee, back to thy palace peacefully and silently. The priests of Ra will guard the body of the Pharaoh until such time as the soulless corpse will have helped to fulfil the deed of vengeance which the gods of Kamt have decreed.”
“I do not understand.”
“Listen, Maat-kha,” said Ur-tasen, more eagerly, as he bent his shaven crown close to her ear; “at the midnight hour, when Isis is high in the heavens, the stranger, who with sacrilegious arrogance doth style himself beloved of the gods, will plight his troth to thee. Ignorant of thy terrible crime, he will swear that he will love and be true to thee, and reverence thee as men of Kamt do reverence the wife whom Isis places in their arms. Do thou be silent and at peace—none but I have seen the evil midnight deed—do thou be silent and at peace, and place thy hand in that of the stranger.”
There was a pause, while I pictured to myself the unfortunate Maat-kha listening to the priest’s commands, not daring to cling to the thin thread of hope which he was so enigmatically holding out to her.
“After the solemn marriage ceremony,” resumed Ur-tasen, “by the custom of our beloved land, the royal bridegroom remains in the temple of Isis, waiting and alone. All those who have come bidden to the feast retire to their homes, to ponder of what they have seen, or to join the populace in their revelry in honour of the joyous night. But the royal bridegroom waits in solitude and prayer; waits until his bride is ready to receive him, at the first streak of dawn, when Isis herself sinks fainting into the arms of Osiris her beloved, and suffuses the vault of heaven with the roseate hue of her bridal blush. Then the royal bridegroom goes forth to meet his bride, and his footsteps lead him through the garden of Isis to that secluded nook, beside the sacred cataract, where stands the hallowed shrine of the goddess, and where foot of man ne’er treads, save he be of royal blood, and hath not yet received the first kiss of his bride. Dost remember the spot, oh, Maat-kha?” he added. “There didst thou go twenty years ago, one summer night, beneath the light of sinking Isis; there didst thou hear the sound of the path crunch beneath the foot of Hor-tep-ra; there didst thou give the first bridal kiss to him whose son thou hast murdered, within the very temple of the goddess.”
“I remember,” she murmured dreamily, “and oh! how oft have I not thought of that solemn meeting within the sacred precincts, with him whom I love beyond all things earthly—with him who to me, to all Kamt, is sacred, nay! divine.”
“It will not be thou, oh, Maat-kha! who wilt meet the bridegroom beneath the shrine of Isis.”
“Who then, oh, mighty priest of Ra?” she asked with sudden terror.
“The dead body of thy murdered son.”
“I do not understand.”
“Nay! thy mind must be strangely overclouded. The Pharaoh did oft in his life evade his attendants and wander about aimlessly in his palaces and his gardens. To-night, more sick than ever, he found his way to the precincts of the temple of Isis, but faintness overtook him—faintness so great that the priests of the goddess laid him on a couch within the sacred building and tended him with loving care. But he is too sick to attend the wedding festivities, and the priests of Isis will have charge of him while Tanis goes raving mad with joy. Tanis will forget the sick Pharaoh in her tumultuous happiness, and those few who will remember him will know that the holy monarch is well cared for by the most learned in the land.”
I confess that not even then did I really understand the devilish plan which the high priest of Ra had conceived. That it was in some way to encompass Hugh’s ruin was of course evident, but what connection the dead Pharaoh was to have with it, or the mysterious and poetic retreat by the cataract, I could not as yet imagine. The Queen, too, was evidently as much at sea as I was, for she repeated mechanically:
“My mind is dull, Ur-tasen. Still I do not understand.”
“During the joyous ceremony,” continued the high priest, “the sick Pharaoh again evades his thoughtful guardians, as he often has evaded his attendants, and his roaming footsteps lead him to the waters of the sacred cataract, the secluded spot wherein the royal scions of ancient Kamt whisper first of love and home. The shrine of the goddess is enclosed by high walls shut off by copper gates; these are never opened save on glorious nights—like to-night will be when the widow of Hor-tep-ra will await her stranger lord. But the holy Pharaoh, finding the sacred grove still deserted, doth lay himself there to rest…”
The high priest paused, then added, in a whisper so low that I could hardly hear:
“He who calls himself beloved of the gods hath no love for the sick Pharaoh, who stands between him and absolute power.… The night is lonely… the gardens silent… and the Pharaoh helpless. The stranger has the strength of a lion… the strength which breaks the golden wand of the high priest of Ra with one touch of the hand… and which smothers the last cries of a dying man as easily as the carrion of the wilderness devour their prey…”
“Thou wouldst…”
“I would break the might of him who has ensnared the people of Kamt and broken their allegiance.… The priests of Isis will softly follow in the wake of the stranger, as he turns his footsteps within the hallowed nook.… Horror-struck, they will see the murderer standing beside his victim, then they will loudly call upon the people of Kamt to quit their rejoicings, to forget their songs and laughter and behold the hideous crime committed by him who dared to call himself the son of Ra!”
“Ur-tasen!” shouted the Queen, appalled at the hideousness of so vile a plot.
But I did not wait to hear more—cared not to hear how the man of evil, that cowardly, treacherous priest, succeeded in forcing the unfortunate, criminal woman’s will. My only thought was to fly to Hugh, to warn him of the base plots which threatened him, of the villainy of the woman to whom he had all but pledged his troth. Thank God! that monstrous oath had not yet been spoken, and my friend Hugh Tankerville had not, by any pagan ritual, sworn to love a murderess. Thank God!—ourGod—who led my footsteps to this idolatrous temple to-night, whereby I was allowed to see and hear, and warn Hugh in time.
“Ifthou refuse,” I heard finally Ur-tasen saying in threatening accents; then he paused, and added with a touch of satire, “Thou art still at liberty to refuse, Maat-kha, to break the oath thou didst swear just now. The body of thy murdered son still lies there, and I, the high priest, can yet summon the people of Tanis and show them their criminal Queen, she who then, to-morrow, will be for ever cast out of Kamt, a prey to the jackals and vultures, while in Tanis the wedding festivities will not even have been put off for so trifling a matter, seeing that the beloved of the gods, the son of Ra, will still be there, ready to wed Neit-akrit of the house of Usem-ra. Ay! thou canst still refuse, and think, when the gates of Kamt are shut for ever upon thee, of that same nook beside the sacred cataract, where the stranger will wait for the beautiful princess with the ardent hair and the eyes as blue as the waters of the lake; surely these will soon help him to forget the erstwhile Queen, the criminal, murderous Maat-kha.”
I knew that she would give in, of course. Her love for Hugh was a barbaric, sensuous one, which would ten thousand times prefer to see the loved one dead than happy in another’s arms. There was no object in my listening any further. The plot was hideously vile and treacherous, and perfectly well-conceived. I shuddered as I thought of what might have happened had not divine Providence led me here.
It did not need much reflection as to what I should do. My first impulse had been to go to the top of the temple steps and there to shout until I had assembled the people of Tanis round me, and then to show them the dead body of the Pharaoh, its murderess and her accomplice. In any case I had not many minutes before me, as undoubtedly in the next few moments Maat-kha would give in and Ur-tasen would order the dead body to be removed.
I went back to the gateway through which I had slipped into this chamber not a quarter of an hour ago… it was shut.
That was strange! I tried to find the opening… impossible to move the gates.… I only succeeded in bruising my hands and smashing my nails. The gate was of solid marble, the tracery a foot thick. It was obviously childish to attempt to force it open. As for any sign of lock or hinge, I certainly could see none. These Egyptians have secret springs to every door that leads to their temples.… Moreover, it was pitch dark all round me. Only between the carving the brilliant moonlight came weirdly creeping through.
Itwas obvious that from that side I was an absolute prisoner—temporarily, I hoped—but minutes, even seconds, were valuable.
From the temple I could hear Ur-tasen’s voice:
“For the third and last time I ask of thee, woman, wilt thou obey the decrees of the gods, or art thou ready to face the awful doom which thy loathsome crime has brought upon thee? Thy death and thy disgrace, or his?… which?… Dost love the stranger so dearly, then, that thou wouldst see him happy in the arms of Neit-akrit with thy crown upon her head?”
And Maat-kha’s voice, low and calm:
“I will obey, Ur-tasen!”
I returned to the aperture from whence I had watched the two evil conspirators. It was no wider than my arm, and from there I could have done nothing but shout, which obviously would have been worse than foolish. I felt not unlike a caged beast, for although I had not as yet the slightest fear of not being able to warn Hugh in time, nevertheless there was no doubt that my position was, to say the least of it, a precarious one, and that I could in no case do anything summarily to expose the murderous plotters.
From where I was I could not see the body of the Pharaoh, and now Queen Maat-kha, with head bent, was walking away towards the farther end of the temple, while the high priest remained standing before the sanctuary of his own pagan goddess, with arms outstretched, murmuring some heathen prayer.
There was long and deathlike silence in the great edifice. Maat-kha had probably gone, taking her conscience with her—if indeed she had any; the high priest had finished muttering his prayers, and I watched—like a caged beast—Hugh’s deadly enemy exulting over his anticipated triumph. I would not allow myself to reflect over the deadly peril of my position. My only thought was one of horror for the diabolical cunning of the plot, which apparently stood such a good chance of success. For the woman I had more of pity than of loathing or contempt. The high priest, with wonderful art, had known how to touch and play upon every sensitive and quivering chord of a highly passionate nature, had with sagacious dexterity roused every jealous instinct in her heart, until, blinded by her own passions, she had given herself over, body and soul, to his guidance.
No!—I don’t think I reflected much upon my own danger. When thoughts of it rushed across my mind, I succeeded in speedily dismissing them. I could not do with such thoughts, for all must tend towards the future, upon how best I could save both my friend and myself. I cursed my own folly, my dilatoriness, the stupid way in which I had allowed myself to be trapped. How long I should remain merely a prisoner I could not of course conjecture, nor did I know whether my precarious position was the result of design or accident.
At the marriage ceremony Hugh would face the sanctuary, in the centre of the building, more than a hundred feet away from where I was, and probably with the gauze curtain between me and him, but I trusted to my lung power and to his presence of mind… if… I was left alive until then.
In the meanwhile I could do nothing but watch. Several attempts at pushing open the gateway had convinced me of their futility. Ur-tasen had been standing immovably for some time before the goddess, and I could see his shaven crown, which hid so many evil thoughts, shining behind the silvery curtain. Many absolutely British sentiments and desires with regard to the old beast made me gnash my teeth in my impotence, and even mutter several fine words, as with head erect he seemed to exult over his coming triumph. I supposed that as he stood there he was seeing visions of the stranger being comfortably cast out of Kamt, and of turning in the wilderness to human flesh and blood for final, loathsome food and drink.
Suddenly, as I looked, it seemed to me that Ur-tasen was no longer alone, but that there stood beside him the same quaint and rigid form which already before, in the gloom, I had thought that I recognised. It was but faintly outlined beyond the folds of the gauzy tissue, and I did not know if my tired eyes were not beginning to play me a few tricks, when Ur-tasen turned and spoke, in a humble and almost tender voice, so different to that in which he had addressed the unfortunate Maat-kha:
“I did it all for thee, Neit-akrit!”
Then I knew that I had not been mistaken. She was there, had probably seen and heard as much of the awful scene as I had, and had not made a movement to save her kinsman or to denounce his murderess. I recollected my old-standing distrust of her, and yet, remembering how young and beautiful she was, I could not admit to myself that she could approve or in any way be accessory to the hideous treachery. She had not replied to the high priest’s words, and he continued eagerly:
“I bless the goddess who led me to her temple to-night, who whispered to me that I should watch the sick Pharaoh, as he noiselessly crept up through the sacred building and disturbed his mother in her devotions. I praise the goddess, Neit-akrit, who with one terrible blow doth allow me to sweep from thy path all those who dared to stand between thee and the throne of Kamt.”
I don’t know if Neit-akrit made any reply; certainly, if she did, it must have been in a whisper, for I did not hear. Then the high priest repeated, with accents that were soft and pleading:
“I did it all for thee, Neit-akrit, that thou mightest wear the double crown of Kamt, and that thine enemy might be driven forth from the land, where, in his arrogance, he dared to lay hands upon thy throne.”
“My enemy?”
Her voice came as a murmur, sweet and low: the words spoken half in astonishment, half in a strange and tender appeal.
“Ay!” said Ur-tasen, vehemently. “Thy throne is free now, Neit-akrit: I have cleared the way for thee. Maat-kha struck her dying son with wrathful arm; I did naught to save him, for by that blow thy kinswoman delivered herself and her stranger lover into my hands. At dawn, anon, when Isis has sunk to rest, he who has dared to call himself the son of Ra will go forth to his doom. Think of it, Neit-akrit! He, alone with the dead body of the Pharaoh! the opening of the gates! the call of the priests of Isis! the rushing of the mob! the shouts of joy transformed into cries of execration at the hideousness of the crime! Then think of it, Neit-akrit! think of the judgment day, when thine enemy, he who had thought to place himself upon thy throne, is led forth bound hand and foot with ropes, humble—an abject criminal—within the great hall of Men-ne-fer, there, on the very spot where thy slave Kesh-ta died, slain by his hand, so that she might escape the just and awful punishment of her crime, he—the son of Ra—will stand, and as the priests of Isis, one by one, with loud voice, will accuse him of the murder of the holy Pharaoh, one by one the lotus blossoms will drop out of the hands of the judges, and I, Ur-tasen, will pronounce judgment upon him. Then, after that—in the early morning…”
The bald old reprobate was evidently enjoying himself amazingly over the recapitulation of all he had prepared for Hugh, but here, suddenly, Neit-akrit interrupted him, and her voice sounded curiously hard and calm.
“And hast no fear, Ur-tasen, that after that, in the early morning, the very gods will arise and kindle the flames of heaven and hurl down the mountains and the rocks over Kamt, in order to bury her and her shame?”
“I do not understand thee,” said the high priest, amazed. “Why speakest thou of shame?”
“Because already I see thy hands stained with his blood, and my very soul turneth in abhorrence from thee.”
“Nay, Neit-akrit! his blood shall not stain the soil of Kamt; the vultures of the wilderness alone will see if it be red. Remember, thy kinsman, the holy Pharaoh, died because his mother felt that he was the stranger’s enemy. Remember that he set himself upon the throne of Kamt, which by right should be thine. Remember…”
“I remember,” she interrupted again, speaking slowly and dreamily, “that he came to us and visited Kamt. He said he came from the foot of the throne of Osiris: well! that is as it may be; surely he is so good to look upon that some of the gods must have lent him their radiance. He came, and the people of Kamt were joyful, and in all the land, since he came, there has been one long and uninterrupted festival. He came, and put a check upon thy cruelty, when thou wouldst have sent a half-crazy woman to die of slow torture in the valley of death. He spoke to thee, and to all the judges of Kamt, of justice and of mercy. He came and we all found him fair, and we rejoiced and loved him, and kissed the ground before his feet. He made us all happy, and we waited all these days, then repaid him with treachery.”
“Neit-akrit!…” protested the high priest.
“Nay! do not speak! I must have my say. I will not hear it again, that thou dost these evil things for me. I did not see Maat-kha’s hand raised against her son: when I came into the temple, alone and unattended save by Sen-tur, the Pharaoh was lying livid upon the ground, and his mother had begun to feel the first pangs of remorse. This I swear by Isis herself, and thou knowest, Ur-tasen, that I never lie. But I saw thee, standing exultant in the gloom, and somehow I knew that thy thoughts were evil. I did not denounce the vile murderess, even while she bent red-handed over the body of her son, but I waited and listened: I heard thy treachery, thy cowardly plan, and that is why, Ur-tasen, I speak of shame to thee!”
She spoke very quietly, in that same monotonous, sing-song way which is the inalienable characteristic of this most ancient language. Ur-tasen, I think, was completely taken aback by her unexpected defence of Hugh, and probably the first inkling that she might provehisenemy instead of that of the stranger penetrated into his scheming mind. I, from where I watched, felt a sudden wave of hope sweep over me, and of remorse for the wrong I had done the beautiful girl by suspecting her in my thoughts. I experienced an overwhelming desire to shout a triumphant shout at our enemy, for I felt that in Neit-akrit now I should have a powerful ally.
There had been a long pause after the Princess had finished speaking. I imagine that old brute was meditating as to what his next tactics should be. At last he said very calmly:
“Thou speakest with wondrous ardour, Neit-akrit. Hath the handsome presence of the stranger made thee forget that he has usurped thy crown? The gods commanded me to act as I did act, to hold my peace whilst Maat-kha and the holy Pharaoh fought out their last and deathly quarrel, and to speak their decrees to the murderess when tardy remorse had at last penetrated her soul.”
“Nay, Ur-tasen!” she said, “blaspheme not, and take not the name of the gods of Kamt in so unholy a cause!”
“Who art thou, girl,” thundered the high priest in his most commanding accents, “who darest to upbraid the high priest of the Creator?”
“I, Neit-akrit, Princess of Kamt,” she replied proudly, “I, who dare to stand here and defy thee. Defy thee to do thy worst.… Ay! thou comest here in the temple of Isis, and in the guise of thy high and solemn priesthood thou lendest thy hand, thy mind, both of which thou hast vowed to the service of the gods, to a deed so base and dark that, methinks, Osiris will not rise to-morrow beyond the hills of Kamt, lest the very atmosphere, through which penetrate his golden rays, be polluted by thy treachery. Nay! prate not to me again thy thrice-told tale that thou didst so monstrous a thing for me! I tell thee, man, that Neit-akrit’s foot would never ascend the steps of a throne rendered slippery with blood, but that her first act of justice in this land, since Maat-kha its Queen has forfeited life and crown by her unholy deed, will be to denounce thee and thy accomplice before the people, and for ever crush that power which thou darest to measure against the beloved of the gods.”
Thank God, and all his saints, the beautiful girl was proving true! It mattered not now whether I was free or a prisoner. Hugh, in any case, was out of danger, and my deliverance would follow in natural sequence; already I was sending up a prayer of heartfelt gratitude to Him who rules all our destinies, and indulging in less Christian-like sentiments with regard to the discomfited foe, when his loud and derisive laughter suddenly dispelled these first glimpses of hope.
“Ha! ha! ha! Neit-akrit, Princess of Kamt! How strange and laughable are thy thoughts! Didst really think thou couldst pit thy woman’s wit against that of him who has for thirty years guided the destinies of Kamt? Wouldst denounce him, dost thou say? To whom, fair Princess? and for what? Hast strength to wield the mighty clapper which calls the people of Tanis to the temple, or might to shriek that those same people, mad, blind and deaf with joy, should hear, and, hearing, come rushing to the sanctuary of Isis to find—what? The dead body of a murdered Pharaoh? Where is it?… The holy Pharaoh is sick, and in the inner precincts of the temple, to which his footsteps led him, ailing and wandering… the priests of Isis are busy lavishing their skill and care upon him. There are twenty of these within my call now, who are ready to swear to the people of Kamt that, though sick, the Pharaoh lives.… And the people of Kamt, who left their rejoicings in answer to the wild shrieks of a woman, will return to their homes, their dancing and their music, with a puzzled and perhaps sad shake of the head, saying, ‘Princess Neit-akrit, of the house of Usem-ra, the beautiful, is no longer pure; madness has caused her tongue to lie, at the very foot of the throne of Isis, desecrating the temple of the goddess.’ And some, no doubt, with a shrug will add: ‘Madness which cometh of love for the stranger, unhappy love for him who will have none of her, since he will wed Maat-kha, anon.’ ”
“Hold thy peace, Ur-tasen. I forbid thee to speak of these things.”
“Nay! I will not hold my peace, Neit-akrit, Princess of Kamt, thou who didst dare say that thou wouldst defy me! Didst think that it were so easy to circumvent the plans of Ur-tasen, the high priest of Ra? Didst think I should allow thy girlish sentiments to upset what I have thought and dreamed of ever since the stranger has usurped my power? Go and strike the metal gong, Neit-akrit, go and summon the people of Tanis. Derision and contempt await thee, and thou wilt not help the stranger withal.”
Then, as she did not reply, but stood like an image of deep thought, with her golden head bent, he added:
“Hadst thou reflected, when thou didst venture to threaten and upbraid me, that thou wast within the precincts of a temple of Kamt, that in every nook, every corner of the gigantic building, the priests of Isis, and those of Ra, those of Horus and those of Osiris, are there lurking ready to answer the high priest’s beck and call? Go up the steps, Neit-akrit, which lead to the ponderous gong, take the mighty clapper in both thy hands, and I tell thee that before metal touches metal thou and thy soul will have fled to a land whence thou canst not return to thwart the will of the high priest of Ra, and a memory of something young and beautiful, the remembrance of a lock of golden hair, will be all that will remain in the land of Neit-akrit, Princess of Kamt.”
I was glad that he had chosen to give this timely warning to the Princess, for I personally had been ready to shout to her, signifying my presence, and trusting to her wit and power to get me out of my difficult position. The mention of a host of shaven priests, hidden I knew not where, threw cold water upon my ardour, and I gnashed my teeth lest my British temper should get the better of me, and lest through the bars of my prison I should be impelled to hurl an ineffectual, if to me convincing, malediction against the unscrupulous and treacherous blackguard who was hemming us in all round.
“It was because I knew this, Ur-tasen, that I did not shout to the people of Kamt the moment I saw the murderous deed and realised the blackness of thy treachery,” said Neit-akrit, quietly. “I did not see the Pharaoh die. I came into the temple alone at the very moment when his body, after a final convulsion, rolled rigid upon the floor. Then I caught sight of thee; the flickering light of the lamp illumined thy face, and I knew that thy thoughts were evil. Silently I waited and listened; heard of thy villainy and Maat-kha’s weakness, and trusted to the gods to give power to my words, to turn thee from the dark path, before it be too late.”
I thought that she looked round her as if realising for the first time the loneliness of her position. Certainly these last few words showed decided signs of coming weakness, and my awakening hopes began to give way to a creeping feeling of disappointment. She was, of course, entirely at the mercy of an unscrupulous and daring man, whose sacred office gave him every power and opportunity of suppressing, temporarily or permanently, every inconvenient enemy. Personally, I thought that his last threat had been a bluff; he would surely not have dared to put Princess Neit-akrit entirely out of the way at the same time as the Pharaoh. She was the idol of the male population of Kamt, and suspicion might perhaps fasten uncomfortably upon the high priest and his deacons. At the same time, undoubtedly, Neit-akrit’s life was doubly precious if she really meant to help Hugh. The question which agitated my mind was, Would she care to thwart the high priest, at risk of some terrible retaliation on his part? Of course I did not understand her nature. How could I, a prosy Britisher, read the thoughts and feelings of so curious and ardent a temperament? Some time ago I had mistrusted her; then, a curious jealous feeling, of which I am heartily ashamed, made me turn against her when I saw how completely she had taken possession of Hugh’s heart. Both these feelings had in their turn overclouded my brain as to her real character, and I really was no judge as to whether she hated Hugh as a usurper, or if she cared for him. She was impulsive and capricious, sensuous and ardent, that I knew. Perhaps it had been mere impulse which had dictated to her to admonish, threaten and warn Ur-tasen, and to save Hugh if she could; that impulse had perhaps died out again, and visions of the throne rendered vacant for her by the Pharaoh’s, Maat-kha’s and ultimately Hugh’s death, chased nobler thoughts away from her mind. She did not speak for a long time, and Ur-tasen stood and watched her with arms folded across his chest, his whole attitude one of scorn and command.
“The hours slip by, Neit-akrit, on the winged feet of time,” he said with pronounced sarcasm. “Hast forgotten that within the next two hours the emissary of Osiris, the son of Ra, he who hath made us all happy and rejoicing, will wed Maat-kha our Queen, the widow of Hor-tep-ra? Hast forgotten that at the marriage ceremony, amidst all that are there, among all those who are fair in the land, there must be one who is fairer than all? Thy women await thee, no doubt, ready to deck thee with the snow-white robes which befit thy beauty and thy innocence. Nay!” he added with sudden softness, “thou art beautiful above all the daughters of Kamt, the perfume of thy hair sends delicious intoxication even through my shrivelled old body. Thou art fair, so fair that I would fain see the double crown of Kamt upon thine ardent hair. To accomplish this I plotted and I planned. Thou art a child and dost not understand. Leave thy destiny, the destinies of Kamt, in the hands of him whose firm will can guide them. Believe me, if in return thou wilt but smile on him and tell him thou art satisfied, he will be content.”
She did not reply, and he added pleadingly:
“I did it for thee, Neit-akrit! In order that I with mine own hands might place the crown of Kamt upon thy golden hair, in order that none should rule over thee, that thou shouldst be queen indeed, as thou art queen only by thy beauty and by thy smiles. Tell me, art satisfied?”
And very quietly she answered:
“I am satisfied!”
I could scarcely believe my ears. Disappointment was so overwhelming that I almost shrieked with the agony of it. Already she had thrown up the sponge. Ambition had quickly swept aside the noble impulse which had made her plead for Hugh. And again Ur-tasen was triumphant, and I, helpless, left once more, after a brief ray of hope, in an uncertainty which was now still harder to bear.
“Before thou goest, Neit-akrit,” said Ur-tasen, “I would have thee swear to me that neither by look nor word wilt thou betray to any one the plans of the high priest of Ra.”
But Neit-akrit was silent; and Ur-tasen added quietly:
“Nay! perhaps thou needest not swear. An oath can so easily be broken, in the spirit if not in the letter. I think I can trust thee best when I say that, shouldst thou before dawn anon think of warning the stranger of what awaits him in the nook beside the sacred cataract, and his footsteps should not in consequence lead him thither, then, of course, no obstacle will stand between the beloved of the gods and Maat-kha, his bride. The priests of Isis, after the first hour of dawn, will take the body of the holy Pharaoh back into his palace, and swear that he died of sickness in his bed. Then the happy union can be consummated, and thou, Neit-akrit, the defrauded Princess of Kamt, canst in thy unselfish joy watch the happiness of Maat-kha, the murderess, in the arms of her beloved, the son of Ra, loved of all the gods: and I can swear to thee that he shall not know that the wife of his bosom is the murderess of her first-born until she hath borne him a son, the heir to all her vices. Farewell, Neit-akrit, future queen of Kamt!”
Oh! he was a cunning brute, was old Ur-tasen: again he had put his finger upon the most vulnerable spot in any female armour. Death to the loved one or his happiness in another woman’s arms: the great problem which has torn passionate women’s hearts in every country and beneath every clime, since the world began. Oh! that I could have read in Neit-akrit’s heart and known what she would do! How far and in what way did she care for Hugh? The alternatives seemed to me equally hopeless. If she had no love for him then, no doubt, ambition would seal her lips: she would remember the throne of Kamt, the glorious double crown, the homage of the people, and in the pomp and glitter forget the awful doom which alone could drive the usurping stranger from her path. But if she loved him, then what…? then the great and subtle puzzle of the eternally feminine, the mysterious workings of a woman’s heart, of a woman who, in spite of the high culture, the civilisation, the artistic refinement of this land, was pre-eminently exotic, passionate, semi-barbarous in her love and her hate. Nay! I knew not. How could I guess how she would act? Can man read the uncut pages of that romance of which a woman only shows him the title leaf?
But, in the meanwhile, the dangers round my friend seemed to close in tightly. Ur-tasen with subtle cunning had worked upon the loves, the jealousies of the two women who alone could save him, while I was still a caged prisoner, and the hours were swiftly speeding on.
Neit-akrit had disappeared, and Ur-tasen alone remained, quietly standing before the altar of the goddess, with arms outstretched, murmuring one of his pagan prayers, but as I still continued my weary watch, it seemed to me that newly awakened though still hidden life began to pervade the great and mystic temple. Within the main aisle the hanging lamps were lighted one after the other by—to me—unseen hands, and in the distance fresh young voices were rehearsing a bridal chant. Behind me in the outer precincts I could hear the muffled sounds of shuffling footsteps passing swiftly to and fro, and although from where I was I could see nothing save the brilliantly lighted and lonely sanctuary, yet I felt that around me there was bustle and animation: the preparations for the coming festivity.
I was carefully maturing my plans. Determined to keep well within the shadow of my prison, I would wait quietly for the best moment in which to attract Hugh’s attention. I was in no sense of the word nervous or agitated; I even began to feel strangely drowsy and had much difficulty in accomplishing my numerous yawns noiselessly. The atmosphere became insufferably hot and heavy; clouds of smoke from the incense and burning herbs were continually wafted in through the window of my prison, and this no doubt was beginning to make me stupid and sleepy.
Not knowing how time was going on, I had squatted into the angle of the wall, with my knees drawn up to my chin, in an irresistible desire for sleep.
Suddenly I heard heavy footsteps outside, slow and halting; trying to shake off my drowsiness, I raised my head and listened. Through the marble tracery of the gateway I could see the vague forms of a group of men, who seemed to be carrying something heavy between them. A great cloud of some peculiarly scented burning herb came in a great wave right through the window and seemed literally to strike me in the face, blinding me and making me gasp for breath. Drowsiness became intolerable, and yet when I sleepily reopened my eyes I saw the gigantic marble gateway slowly moving on its hinges.… This sight roused me from my lethargy for the moment.… My senses fully alive, I watched and waited.… It was pitch dark in the farther end of my cell, but I heard the footsteps within three feet of me, still shuffling and halting.… Through the open gateway the shadows appeared less dense: noiselessly on my hands and knees, keeping my shoulder close to the wall, I crawled towards the opening.
The men had put their heavy burden on the floor: they did not speak, hardly did I hear them breathing. My fear was lest they should detect me before I had reached the gate, but they seemed not to have noticed me, and now, one by one, they turned and filed out. I was close to the opening, leaning against the wall, ready to crawl out in the last man’s wake.… From the inside of my prison the same unknown scent of some highly aromatic herb was wafted in great clouds towards my nostrils… the fumes were overpowering, and I was tired and sleepy from my long, anxious wait.… The men had all slipped noiselessly through the opening… the cloak of the last one had caught in a projecting bit of carving… he stooped quietly to disentangle it… I could see his outline very clearly against the lighted corridor beyond.… My lids fell heavily over my eyes… I tried to shake off my torpor, for the last effort for freedom… but I was too sleepy.… I could not move. A great whiff of that enervating, burning herb made me long for rest and sleep!… I was too tired… I would slip out by-and-by.… Now I must have sleep.
The man with the cloak had slipped out… I think the gate swung to, and I crouched once more with my chin between my knees.… I wondered what the herb was.… I must find out… it would do instead of ether in cases of minor operations… it was sweet and pleasant, but overpowering.
From the sanctuary a sudden brilliant ray of light struck for an instant through the aperture… some one must have gone past carrying a lamp or torch. It lit up the centre of my prison, and forced me to open my eyes for a second.… During that second I saw that, on the floor, sharing my captivity with me, was the body of the murdered Pharaoh.…
Then I remember nothing more.…
“Andthou, oh, stranger, who dost hail from the foot of the throne of Osiris, who art the son of Ra, the emissary of Horus, the beloved of all the gods, tell Isis, the mysterious goddess, why thou art here.”
“I am here to crave of Isis the pure, Isis the beloved, Isis the most holy, that she deign to pour the fruits of her blessing upon me, for I would take this woman to be my wife.”
It was Hugh’s voice which spoke slowly and solemnly, and which was the first sound that penetrated to my brain, still wandering in the realms of cloud-land.
Through the window of my prison an intense flood of light filtered brilliantly, illuminating the granite floor and walls. A strong scent of incense and myrrh had driven away the stupefying fumes of that burning herb which had lulled me to sleep. I tried to collect my scattered senses, but a terrible pain in my head and eyes still kept me half-stupefied. And yet I heard Hugh’s voice speaking strange and momentous words, and a dull instinct whispered to me that I must get to him, somehow, for a reason, of which I was not as yet fully conscious. A raging thirst had made my tongue swell and parched my throat: the events of the last few hours danced before my clouded brain like some weird phantasmagoria.
The Pharaoh… dead! murdered! his body lying close to me, when last I had opened my eyes, but now, carried away, while I had been asleep… Maat-kha!… the murderess!… Hugh’s promised bride! Ur-tasen, the evil plotter!… who had done… I knew not what… something that would wreck Hugh’s life as well as his honour.… Neit-akrit!… who might be a friend, and yet was a foe!… and I… a helpless prisoner, stupid, senseless, half-drowsy still, after a drugged and heavy sleep!
“And thou, Maat-kha, who art daughter of Uah-ab-ra, the son of Ach-mes, the son of Ne-ku, tell Isis, the mysterious goddess, why thou art here.”
I did not know that voice, some priest probably… no concern of mine… I could perhaps get another half-hour’s sleep… I was still so tired.
“I came here to crave of Isis the pure, Isis the beloved, Isis the most holy, that she deign to pour upon me the fruits of her blessing, for I would swear fealty to this man, and be his wife.”
That was Queen Maat-kha’s voice, and just now I had heard that of Hugh… the pain in my head was intolerable… my limbs felt weak and stiff: there was the whole length of my prison between me and the aperture, through which probably I should be able to see those who had spoken. I began to drag myself along, but I was only half awake, my limbs only just managed to bear me along, and I did not know if I should ever reach that aperture.
“Art awake, oh, Isis, who art daughter of Ra?
“Art awake, oh, Isis, who art sister and bride of Osiris?
“Art awake, oh, Isis, who art mother of Horus?
“Oh, Isis, give life to this man and to this woman, who have sought the sanctity of thy temple!
“The gods above do rejoice! the glorious company is full of joy, giving praise to thee, oh, Isis, who art pure!
“Isis who art beloved!
“Isis who art most holy!”
I had at last, after terrible difficulties, succeeded in reaching the window; with infinite pain I struggled to my feet, but I could not stand: my head was heavy and my knees shook under me. Twice I fell down, but at the third struggle my hands convulsively fastened on the marble ledge, and steadying myself as best I could, I looked out, dazed, before me.
The sanctuary and the temple beyond it were one dazzling mass of lighted lamps and torches. The gossamer curtain had been drawn aside, and I could see the interminable vista of snow-white columns, on which the silver inlay glistened with a thousand sparks. Between the pillars, a sea of dark heads, adorned with gaily-coloured caps and kerchiefs, amongst which, occasionally, I caught sight of the glitter of a golden uræus, or elaborately jewelled belt.… I could distinguish no details: my eyes were blurred, my brain overclouded. I remember that gorgeous picture only as one remembers a dream.
Immediately before me Isis towered, wrapped in her sacred mantle, which hand of man has never dared to touch. On her head a gigantic pair of snow-white horns, between which glittered the silver disc of a huge full moon. Immediately at her feet a group of priests, with shaven crowns and long flowing robes of white, stood in a semi-circle, in the middle of which the high-priest of the goddess stood with arms outstretched, reciting the invocations.
Beneath the many hanging lamps, wherein burned lights of different colours, the other priests of the gods of Kamt were massed in imposing groups: the priests of Ra with yellow robes and leopard skins round their bodies: those of Phtah, with monstrous scarabæus of iridescent blue and green enamel on the top of their heads: those of Thot, with masks of apes entirely covering their faces, and those of Hor, with masks of sparrow-hawks, while the jackal’s head hid the features of the priests of Anubis. Immediately to the right of the officiating high priests stood Ur-tasen, the high priest of Ra.
“Isis is strong!
“Isis is great!
“Isis is living and mighty!”
The various attributes of the goddess reached my dull ears only as the sound of muffled drums.
At the foot of the sanctuary steps, against a background of men and women in gorgeous raiments, and beneath a canopy of white lilies, stood Hugh Tankerville and his promised wife. His face was even paler than when I had seen it last: his eyes gleamed darkly and with an unnatural fire. He held his arms tightly crossed over his chest, and in his whole attitude there was the expression of an indomitable will triumphing over an overwhelming passion.
I saw him, as I had seen the sanctuary, the goddess, the crowds of people, only as one sees a vivid dream. It seemed to me as if he were not really there, but that slowly, very slowly, I was waking from that sleep which had held me enthralled for months, and that when I was fully awake I should look round me, and see myself sitting in the dear old Museum, at The Chestnuts, with Mr. Tankerville sitting beside me, telling me of beautiful, mysterious, legendary Neit-akrit.
I tried to speak to Hugh, for he was not far from me, but my tongue seemed rooted to my palate, and, as in a dream, not a sound escaped my throat. Clouds of incense rose all around, and when the high priest had ceased to laud the magnificence of his goddess, the priestesses, clad all in white, with their huge, disfiguring wigs over their heads, began a sweet and monotonous chant, accompanying themselves upon their crescent-shaped harps, and beating upon the sistrum and the drum.
Beside Hugh, underneath that same canopy of lilies, and with her hand holding his, was Queen Maat-kha. She had discarded her gorgeous funereal draperies, and was standing clad all in white, her regal crown over her low, square brow, her great black tresses descending each side of her pale face, almost to her knees, and intertwined with ropes of pearls. And I, in my dream, thought that I could see, clinging to her finger tips, the last drops of her murdered son’s blood.
Again I tried to scream, but my throat seemed paralysed. Gradually memory, as a vague, still indistinct shadow, began to creep back into my mind. Hugh was before me clad in sumptuous robes, his dark head uncovered, his tall figure erect, ready to plight his troth, to pledge that word, which he worshipped as a divinity, to the vile murderess by his side. Twice a murderess, since having slain her son she would ruthlessly sacrifice her lover to save herself from the tortures of jealousy. Yes, I did remember! It was imperative that I should warn Hugh of some terrible danger which the woman beside him and the high priest of Ra had placed across his path.
“Oh, thou who art beloved of the gods, and thou who art Queen of Kamt, behold! Isis the goddess is awakened!
“Ra, all-creating, all-powerful and mighty, doth descend to earth!
“Phtah, the mysterious, and Osiris, the bounty-giver, do hover invisibly over your heads!
“But Hapi, who proceedeth from Ra, who, in his divine person, is the living representative of Isis, of Osiris, and of Phtah, Hapi himself will pass before your eyes!
“With the finger of your right hand ye may touch the sacred star upon his brow!
“With both your eyes ye may gaze upon him!
“But, ye all, children of Kamt! veil ye your countenance! the god will pass amongst you, and the sight of him gives blindness to those who are not wholly pure!”
A terrific cloud of incense rose from every corner of the edifice. Hugh and the Queen mounted two of the steps which led up to the sanctuary, and behind them the silver tissue of the veil fell together with a prolonged and softly sighing sound. Immediately underneath the window where I was a bowl full of incense must have been burning, for a cloud rose like a curtain between me and the sanctuary. Through it I could see Hugh, not twenty yards away from me, and I tried to scream… and my throat was absolutely paralysed.
Now, there was great tramping of feet, and opposite to me a brilliantcortègecame slowly towards the bridal pair. Adorned with bunches of gardenias and tuberoses, but with heavy chains round his feet and head, a gigantic ox was being dragged along. He was black, save for a white spot upon his forehead, and a patch upon his back: his horns were silvered, and he was led by ten priests of Isis, who held him by heavy silver chains. The great beast, snorting and puffing and evidently much annoyed at having been dragged from his stable, allowed himself to be taken fairly peacefully along, until he was brought to a standstill in the middle of the sanctuary, immediately at the foot of the throne of Isis. All the priests had prostrated themselves face downwards on the ground. Hugh and Maat-kha alone remained standing. At a sign from the high priest they both placed their hand upon the forehead of the beast, while the priestesses intoned a triumphal march. Then, as stolidly as he had come, the god Hapi retired from the gaze of his worshippers.
“Oh thou, the son of Ra! the emissary of Osiris! the beloved of the gods! art ready to take the oath which will bind thee, thy body and thy soul, the breath within thy body and the blood beneath thy flesh, to the woman who is to be thy wife?”
And I, in this strange and vivid dream, which was so real, and which I could not grasp, heard Hugh’s voice clear and distinct:
“I am ready.”
And I, his friend, his chum, his schoolfellow, I, Mark Emmett, who would have given at any time my life for his, could not succeed in giving one warning shout to stop this monstrous deed.
The poison—whatever it was—was still in my veins… my limbs felt like lead… I could not keep my head erect.… I could see all, hear every word, and smell the incense… but I could not utter a sound.
“Oh! son of Ra, beloved of the gods, at dawn when anon, Isis, the pure, sinks fainting into the arms of Osiris, her beloved and glorious spouse, thou wilt stand beside the sacred cataract, where since five times a thousand years the kings of Kamt have given the first kiss to their bride!
“Oh then! oh, son of Ra, wilt swear to give thy bride that kiss and to take her for wife?”
“I swear!” said Hugh, earnestly.
“Oh, son of Ra, beloved of the gods, having taken unto thee a wife, wilt swear to be true to her with thy soul and with thy body?”
“I swear!”
“Oh, son of Ra, beloved of the gods, dost swear before all men that thou wilt be true to her, whom thou wilt take to thyself as wife?”
“I swear!”
“Wilt swear it on the names of the gods of Kamt, of Ra, of Osiris and of Horus? of Anubis and Set? Wilt swear it upon thy manhood and upon thy honour?”
“I swear it!”
Hugh Tankerville, calm and impassive, had pledged his honour to be true to her who even now was plotting his death and his shame.
I seemed to remember all now as in a flash. The sight of Ur-tasen’s face as he watched the high priest of Isis administering this oath to my friend, for the space of a second, illumined a corner of my dulled intellect. I saw it all with the vividness of reality: the murdered Pharaoh lying beside the cataract; Hugh wandering unsuspectingly thither, with the shaven priests of Isis creeping on his trail, like jackals after their prey: then the mob yelling and cursing: Hugh, helpless in the face of the terrible accusations; the hall of justice: the doom from which probably even his own personality could not save him: and all the while I tried to shriek. I opened my parched lips, and but a few dull, guttural sounds escaped my throat, and Hugh could not hear. He was there within a few yards of me, pledging his manhood, his honour, to a pagan murderess, and I could do nothing, for I was in a dream, which gripped my throat and numbed my limbs. Once it seemed to me as if Hugh held up his head suddenly, while a look of surprise came into his eyes: encouraged, I tried again; my head fell back as if weighted with lead, the lids closed over my aching eyes, the vision of the snow-white temple, the brilliant crowd, the gorgeous and motley group of priests became more and more dim. With a feeble effort, I tried to raise my hand, and beat childishly, impotently, against the immovable and cold stone walls of my prison; but even that effort proved too great: my grip on the marble relaxed, my knees absolutely gave way under me, and stupefied, drowsy, sleepy still under the potency of the mysterious drug, I sank again into heavy, dreamless sleep.…
Thecloud was being slowly lifted from round my brain: the dream was gradually being dispelled; reality—terrible, appalling—forced itself before my enfeebled mind. My head still felt like lead, my eyes burned like pieces of charcoal in their sockets, my limbs still were paralysed and stiff—but my brain was clear, and I remembered.
Through the window of my prison a very faint glimmer only was creeping in from the sanctuary, throwing a dim band of light upon the floor. In the air there hovered the heavy odour of burnt incense and myrrh, but everything around was silent and at peace.
Had it all been a dream, or had the brilliant marriage ceremony taken place? Had I seen Hugh standing before the altar of the goddess swearing to wed the murderess of her son?
Slowly I raised myself upon my knees, then another mighty effort brought me to my feet, but I could not stand alone, I had to lean against the wall; an intolerable feeling of nausea overcame me, and I feared that I would again lose consciousness. At last I managed to look through the window. In strange contrast to the last picture which I had seen, the snow-white temple of Isis now was dark and deserted. The guests had gone, as had the priests with their grotesque masks, the priestesses with their harps and lutes—the canopy of lilies hung from above, but from beneath it bride and bridegroom had disappeared. The sacred edifice with its interminable vista of white and silver columns stretched out before me in all its imposing and majestic vastness. Suddenly it seemed to me that in the gloom my tired, aching eyes perceived a tall and solitary figure leaning against one of the pillars not very far from me. The curtain had been drawn aside to enable the lonely watcher to see the great goddess in her sanctuary, during his long and lonely vigil. My eyes ached and burned so I could scarcely see, and was forced to close them from sheer pain, but tired as they were they had not failed even in the gloom to recognise in the lonely watcher Hugh Tankerville, my friend.
I could not see his features, for the temple itself was not lighted up; only through the distant gateway beyond, the rays of the moon sinking towards the west threw weird patches of blue light upon the pillars and the floor. I tried to call to him, but the same terrible grip seemed still to hold my throat; what poison was it, I wonder, with which the treacherous high-priest had succeeded in silencing my warning voice? The memory of the past few hours became intolerable torture, the feeling of utter helplessness, coupled with the comparative clearness of my brain, was harder to bear than the physical ailments which still paralysed my throat and limbs. Longingly I looked at Hugh; it seemed to me as if some subtle magnetism in my gaze must ultimately succeed in drawing his. O God! was I then presently destined to see him walk forth from this accursed temple right into the hideous trap which had been set for him? I tried to use what little power I had to make as much noise as I could, vaguely hoping that Hugh would hear: I scratched the marble wall with my nails, I beat it with the palm of my hand, but the temple was very vast, my efforts weak, and Hugh did not hear. Then I tried to stretch out my arm and perhaps wave my handkerchief through the narrow window: I tried to fumble for it, but the effort was too great; my arms were almost inert, and I literally could not stretch them out far enough. Dizzy with the feeble attempt, I leaned back against the wall tired out.
Yet the danger grew every moment more terrible. If I remained too feeble to call out, if I could not succeed in attracting Hugh’s attention, if I did not in fact warn him of the damnable plot that had been hatched against him, he would presently go forth from the temple to the sacred grove of Isis, thinking to meet his bride; there he would find himself alone with the dead body of the Pharaoh, placed there by Ur-tasen’s commands.
I remembered all the details of that awful, treacherous plan quite clearly: nay, more, I saw the whole thing realised before my mind’s eye, as clearly as if I were gazing on a picture. I could see the high priest of Ra creeping in the wake of Hugh, I heard his hypocritical voice loudly denouncing the man I loved best on earth, and accusing him of the foul murder… and after that what would happen?… I dared not think. Would the crowd who had worshipped Hugh turn worship into execration? Would they believe that the son of Ra, he who was beloved of the gods, was nothing but a vile criminal who would strike a feeble enemy in the dark?
Who knows? A crowd is as wayward as a child, as fickle as the most capricious flirt.… And I could not warn Hugh, for I was a prisoner, and the hour of dawn was nigh.
And Neit-akrit, the beautiful Princess?… Vainly I tried to cling to that last ray of hope. Surely a girl, so young, so beautiful, could not allow such vile treachery to be committed against the man whom she loved. Yes, she loved him, I knew that, I felt it: when she spoke of him to Ur-tasen her voice almost broke in a sob. Oh! for the knowledge of that mysterious thing called a woman’s heart! Loving him, what would she do? Give him a word of warning ere it was too late, thereby sending him into the arms of Maat-kha, his wife, or let him go to disgrace and death sooner than see him happy with another?
These thoughts chased one another in my poor aching head, until the physical pain of it all became more than I could bear. I closed my eyes; the sight of that great temple, of Hugh standing there, alone and unsuspecting, was positive torture to me.
When I looked again Hugh was still there, leaning against the pillar, but it suddenly seemed to me as if something was moving close to him. Gradually the moving form took a more definite shape, and in the shadow my burning eyes had recognised a quaint and dainty outline, and an aureole of golden hair. It was she! silent, mysterious, walking towards him with that undulating grace which was peculiarly her own. Absorbed in thought, he evidently had not heard the sound of her tiny bare feet upon the smooth floor. She was wrapped in a white kalasiris, without jewels or ornaments of any kind, and Sen-tur was not by her side.
She came quite close to him, and then he raised his head and saw her. She looked exquisitely beautiful, graceful and tall as the white lilies of Kamt; she placed a warning finger to her mouth, but he took the tiny hand in both his own, and murmured, as if in a dream:
“Neit-akrit!”
“Hush!” she warned, “the very air is filled with potent dangers, and thine enemies lurk hidden all around.”
“But thou art here,” he said. “Do not speak! stand still for a moment, for I would look at thee! How beautiful thou art! and how thy presence doth fill the temple of Isis with a radiance which is almost divine!”
Obedient to his wish, she stood quite still, her dainty form against the ghost-like whiteness of the marble pillars, on which the rapidly sinking moon threw its last brilliant rays. Something in his look, however, must have made her move, for she turned away.
“Dost wonder why I am here?” she asked.
“No! I hardly dare believe that thou art real, that thou art not an enchanting dream, with which Isis thought to soothe my aching senses. Wilt speak to me again?”
“I would tell thee why I came,” she said.
“Nay! not that,” he pleaded. “What care I, so long as thou art here, and I can look at thee?”
“Nay! but thou must know,” she said, with a half-merry, half-nervous little laugh. “Hast heard, oh, son of Ra, that in Kamt we who are maidens deem it the luckiest thing on earth to pluck the flowers from out the canopy which sheltered the heads of the bride and bridegroom, if they come of royal blood? The posy thus made brings to the owner lasting happiness. And so, to-night, while Tanis is mad with joy, I crept out of my palace, and came to the temple of Isis, to twine the nosegay, and having twined it, give it thee.”
I gazed and wondered; little did I understand what the strange girl intended when she came alone to see Hugh in his solitude. A wild hope was in my heart that she had come to warn, and an earnest prayer that he might listen. He did not speak. I fancy he would not trust himself to say much, but when she so daintily expressed her desire for his happiness, he raised both her small hands to his lips. She withdrew them quickly, and said:
“Nay! we have no time to lose, for the posy must be large. There are many flowers needed to make the bunch of happiness complete. Thou must help me to pick them, for some of them are too high for me to reach. But thou art tall! See…” she said, pointing eagerly up to the great floral canopy, whence masses of blossoms hung in fragrant shower, “that perfect lily up there, would it not make a lovely centre for the bunch? Thou art so tall,” she repeated with a pretty gesture of entreaty, “wilt reach it down for me?”
And Hugh obediently stretched his long limbs and with much difficulty succeeded in disentangling the coveted lily.
“Is it not beautiful?” she said admiringly, “so chaste! but oh! so cold. Dost know, oh, beloved of the gods, what the white lily of Kamt means?”
He shook his head.
“All flowers have a meaning, of course, and the lily means duty,” she said with a sigh, “that is why it seems so cold, even cruel, in its waxy, spotless whiteness, but it must form the centre of the bunch, for I think thou dost love duty dearly, too dearly methinks, and perhaps wouldst not be happy without it. But,” she added more gaily, “we will soften her waxy coldness: dost see that graceful bunch of white acacia? that means homely happiness. It would look well in graceful clusters round the stern centre of duty.”
He was listening to her merry talk, I fancied, with a slightly puzzled air sometimes. Still less than I could he guess why she had come; but her presence made him happy for the moment, and it was quite gaily that he said: “But I cannot reach the homely happiness.”
“Oh, what a pity!” she said earnestly. “Duty will look so ugly without home to soften it.”
She paused perplexed, then added with an odd look at Hugh:
“Canst jump, oh, beloved of the gods?”
He laughed gaily, merrily, as I had heard him laugh of old.
“Can I?” he asserted triumphantly, and with gesture and action hardly befitting the solemn majesty of the temple of Isis, Hugh made a sudden grab for the drooping acacia, and brought down a perfect shower of white petals, as the floral canopy trembled with the shock.
“Homely happiness is hard to get,” he said with a laugh, “but it well repays the effort; the scent of the acacia is very sweet.”
She was laughingly shaking her golden tresses, to which the white petals persistently clung.
“It was hard,” she said, “but see! how pretty it looks; now, I wonder, what would look well beside it.”
“These orange blossoms are pretty.”
“Yes!… they are pretty.… Wouldst like a cluster?… In Kamt we call them wedded bliss.… Dost want it in the posy?” she asked with a quaint anxious tone in her voice.
“No!” he said abruptly.
The moon must have sunk down very low behind the distant hills of Kamt, and the temple of Isis was dark, only the fitful glow of one of the sanctuary lamps lit up the dainty scene before me. Hugh, I could see, still had himself in absolute control. How long that would last I could not say. I considered that he owed no allegiance to the woman who had planned his murder; the sacrilegious marriage had not been completed, and I, feeble, half-paralysed as I was, had yet the strength to pray that beautiful Neit-akrit would make my friend forget the fateful hour of dawn.
There had been long silence between them while she, a trifle nervously, was fumbling with the flowers, and he was looking tenderly, longingly, at her.
“Ah, I know!” she said at last, “I must give thee white roses; they will look lovely beside the homely happiness. See! a beautiful cluster hangs just above thy head. Thou canst reach it quite easily and needst but to stretch out thy hand.”
“A lovely cluster indeed, and the scent is delightfully sweet. Wilt tell me what white roses mean in Kamt?”
He was handing the drooping cluster of roses to her, and she stretched out her small hand for it; the other was already loaded with flowers.
“In Kamt white roses mean love,” she whispered, as she took the flowers from him.
I could see that his fingers fastened upon hers, that his whole body trembled as if with a mighty effort. It was a cruel position for any man deeply in love with a very beautiful woman, to be alone with her in this vast and silent temple, with myriads of flowers round him, making the air fragrant and heavy. She did not try to disengage her hand, but stood a little while, with her great eyes meeting his, boldly and fearlessly.
It was only when, with sudden impulse, he tried to draw her closer to him, that she gently withdrew her hands and said lightly:
“Now we must have white rosemary. Wilt thou not gather it for me?” she added, as Hugh, inert and dazed, was looking at her with that weary longing, that infinite tenderness, which always made my heart ache for his pain. “Dost know that white rosemary spells remembrance?”
“Rosemary for remembrance!” he repeated, as quietly he turned and with loving care picked the humble blossom from out the crowd of its more gorgeous sisters. He looked at it, and as the light flickered, I could see two great tears glistening in his eyes. “Rosemary for remembrance!”—the very words spoke of England and of home, and brought to his weary heart probably, more strongly than anything else could do, the thought of what he had lost.