Then Tua swept her harp and sang again, but this time with all her strength and soul.  As the first glorious notes floated from her lips Rames rose from his seat, and stood staring at her entranced.  On went the song, and on, as she had sung it in the banqueting hall of Pharaoh at Thebes, so she sang it in the chamber of Rames at Napata.  The scribe dared the sanctuary, the angry goddess smote him cold in death, the high-priestess wailed and mourned, the Queen of Love relented, and gave him back his life again.  Then came that last glorious burst when, lifted up to heaven, the two lovers, forgiven, purged, chanted their triumph to the stars, and, by slow degrees, the music throbbed itself to silence.

Look! white-faced, trembling, Rames clung to a pillar in his chamber, while Tua sank back upon her chair, and the harp she held slipped from her hand down upon the floor.

“Whence came that harp?” he gasped.  “Surely there are not two such in the world?  Woman, you have stolen it.  Nay, how can you have stolen the music, and the voice as well?  Lady, forgive me, I have no thought of evil, but oh! grant me a boon.  Why, I will tell you afterwards.  Grant me a boon—­let me look upon your face.”

Tua lifted her hands, and undid the fastening of her veil, which slipped from her to her feet, showing her in the rich array of a prince of Egypt.  His eyes met her beautiful eyes, and for a while they gazed upon each other like folk who dream.

“What trick is this?” he said angrily at last.  “Before me stands the Star of Amen, Egypt’s anointed Queen.  The harp she bears was the royal gift of the Prince of Kesh, he who fell that night beneath my sword.  The voice is Egypt’s voice, the song is Egypt’s song.  Nay, how can it be?  I am mad, you are magicians come to mock me, for that Star, Amen’s daughter, reigns a thousand miles away with the lord she chose, Abi, her own uncle, he who, they say, murdered Pharaoh.  Get you gone, Sorceress, lest I cause the priests of Amen, whereof you also make a mock, to cast you to the flames for blasphemy.”

Slowly, very slowly, Tua opened the wrappings about her throat, revealing the Sign of Life that from her birth was stamped above her bosom.

“When they see this holy mark, think you that the priests of Amen will cast me to the flames, O Royal Son of Mermes?” asked Tua softly.

“Why not?” he answered.  “If you have power to lie in one thing, you have power to lie in all.  She who can steal the loveliness of Egypt’s self, can also steal the signet of the god.”

“Say, did you, O Rames, also steal that other signet on your hand, a Queen’s gift, I think, that once a Pharaoh wore?  Say also how did you lose the little finger of that hand?  Was it perchance in the maw of a certain god that dwells in the secret pool of a temple at holy Thebes?”

So Tua spake, and waited a while, but Rames said nothing.  He opened his mouth to answer, indeed, but a dumbness sealed his lips.