Now Tua heard Asti murmuring secret invocations that she did not understand.  In that place and silence they sounded weird and dreadful, and as she hearkened to them, for the first time fear crept over her.  Kneeling there upon her knees she bent her head almost to the dust and put up prayers to Amen that he might be pleased to hear her and to satisfy the longings of her heart.  She prayed and prayed till she grew faint and weary, while always Asti uttered her invocations.  But no answer came, no deity appeared, no voice spoke.  At length Asti rose, and coming to her, whispered in her ear: 

“Let us depart ere the watching spirits, whose rest we have broken, grow wrath with us.  The god has shut his ears.”

So Tua rose, clinging to Asti, for now, she knew not why, her fear grew and deepened.  For a moment she stood upon her feet, then sank to her knees again, for there at the far end of the great tomb, near to the door by which they had entered, appeared a glow upon the darkness.  Slowly it took form, the form of a woman clad in the royal robes of Egypt, and bearing in its hand a sceptre.  The figure of light advanced towards them, so that presently they saw its face.  Tua did not know the face, though it seemed to her to be like her own, but Asti knew it, and at the sight sank to the ground.

Now the figure stood in front of them, a thing of light framed in the thick darkness, and now in a sweet, low voice it spoke.

“Hail!  Queen of Egypt,” it said.  “Hail!  Neter-Tua, Daughter of Amen.  Art thou afraid to look on the spirit of her who bore thee, thou that didst dare to summon the Father of the gods to do thy bidding?”

“I am afraid,” answered Tua, shaking in all her limbs.

“And thou, Asti the Magician, art thou afraid also, who but now wast bold enough to cry to Amen-Ra—­’Come from thy high heaven and make answer’?”

“It is even so, O Queen Ahura,” murmured Asti.

“Woman,” went on the voice, “thy sin is great, and great is the sin of this royal one at thy side.  Had Amen hearkened, how would the two of you have stood before his glory, who at the sight of this shape of mine that once was mortal like yourselves, crouch choking to the earth?  I tell you both that had the god arisen, as in your wickedness ye willed, there where ye knelt, there ye would have died.  But he who knows all is merciful, and in his place has sent me his messenger that ye may live to look upon to-morrow’s sun.”

“Let Amen pardon us!” gasped Tua, “it was my sin, O Mother, for I commanded Asti and she obeyed me.  On me be the blame, not on her, for I am torn with doubts and fears, for myself and for another.  I would know the future.”

“Why, O Queen Neter-Tua, why wouldst thou know the future?  If hell yawns beneath thy feet, why wouldst thou peep through its golden doors before the time?  The future is hid from mortals because, could they pierce its veil, it would crush them with its terrors.  If all the woes of life and death lay open the gaze, who would dare to live and who—­oh! who could dare to die?”