“Good, and of course there are no witnesses to this talk of ours.  Have you also been taking lessons in statecraft in your spare hours, Rames, much as I have tried to learn something of the art of war?”

Rames made no answer, only these two strange conspirators looked at each other and smiled.

“Your Majesty is weary.  I must leave your Majesty,” he said presently.

“You must be wearier than I am, Rames, with that wound, which I think has not been dressed, although it is true that we have both fought to-night.  Rames, you are going on a far journey.  I wonder if we shall ever meet again.”

“I do not know,” he answered with a groan, “but for my sake it is better that we should not.  O Morning Star, why did you save me this night, who would have been glad to die?  Did not that Ka of yours tell you that I should have been glad to die, or my mother, who is a magician?”

“I have seen nothing of my Ka, Rames, since we played together in the temple—­ah! those were happy days, were they not?  And your mother is a discreet lady who does not talk to me about you, except to warn me not to show you any favour, lest others should be jealous and murder you.  Shall you then be sorry if we do not meet again?  Scarcely, I suppose, since you seem so anxious to die and be rid of me and all things that we know.”

Now Rames pressed his hand upon his heart as though to still its beating, and looked round him in despair.  For, indeed, that heart of his felt as though it must burst.

“Tua,” he gasped desperately, “can you for a minute forget that you are Queen of the Upper and the Lower Land, who perhaps will soon be Pharaoh, the mightiest monarch in the world, and remember only that you are a woman, and as a woman hear a secret and keep it close?”

“We have been talking secrets, Rames, as we used to do, you remember, long ago, and you will not tell mine which deal with the State.  Why, then, should I tell yours?  But be short, it grows late, or rather early, and as you know, we shall not meet again.”

“Good,” he answered.  “Queen Neter-Tua, I, your subject, dare to love you.”

“What of that, Rames?  I have millions of subjects who all profess to love me.”

He waved his hand angrily, and went on: 

“I dare to love you as a man loves a woman, not as a subject loves a queen.”

“Ah!” she answered in a new and broken voice, “that is different, is it not?  Well, all women love to be loved, though some are queens and some are peasants, so why should I be angry?  Rames, now, as in past days, I thank you for your love.”

“It is not enough,” he said.  “What is the use of giving love?  Love should be lent.  Love is an usurer that asks high interest.  Nay, not the interest only, but the capital and the interest to boot.  Oh, Star! what happens to the man who is so mad as to love the Queen of Egypt?”

Tua considered this problem as though it were a riddle to which she was seeking an answer.