“So they say.  Perhaps Ana here will soon tell us the truth about these matters.  Tend him well, physician, and you shall not lack for your reward.”

Then they went away, still talking, and I lay quiet, filled with thankfulness and wonder, for now everything came back to me.

A while later, as I lay with my eyes still shut, for even that low light seemed to hurt them, I became aware of a woman’s soft step stealing round my bed and of a fragrance such as comes from a woman’s robes and hair.  I looked and saw Merapi’s star-like eyes gazing down on me just as I had seen them in my dreams.

“Greeting, Moon of Israel,” I said.  “Of a truth we meet again in strange case.”

“Oh!” she whispered, “are you awake at last?  I thank God, Scribe Ana, who for three days thought that you must die.”

“As, had it not been for you, Lady, surely I should have done—­I and another.  Now it seems that all three of us will live.”

“Would that but two lived, the Prince and you, Ana.  Would that I had died,” she answered, sighing heavily.

“Why?”

“Cannot you guess?  Because I am outcast who has betrayed my people.  Because their blood flows between me and them.  For I killed that man, and he was my own kinsman, for the sake of an Egyptian—­I mean, Egyptians.  Therefore the curse of Jahveh is on me, and as my kinsman died doubtless I shall die in a day to come, and afterwards—­what?”

“Afterwards peace and great reward, if there be justice in earth or heaven, O most noble among women.”

“Would that I could think so!  Hush, I hear steps.  Drink this; I am the chief of your nurses, Scribe Ana, an honourable post, since to-day all Egypt loves and praises you.”

“Surely it is you, lady Merapi, whom all Egypt should love and praise,” I answered.

Then the Prince Seti entered.  I strove to salute him by lifting my less injured arm, but he caught my hand and pressed it tenderly.

“Hail to you, beloved of Menthu, god of war,” he said, with his pleasant laugh.  “I thought I had hired a scribe, and lo! in this scribe I find a soldier who might be an army’s boast.”

At this moment he caught sight of Merapi, who had moved back into the shadow.

“Hail to you also, Moon of Israel,” he said bowing.  “If I name Ana here a warrior of the best, what name can both of us find for you to whom we owe our lives?  Nay, look not down, but answer.”

“Prince of Egypt,” she replied confusedly, “I did but little.  The plot came to my ears through Jabez my uncle, and I fled away and, knowing the short paths from childhood, was just in time.  Had I stayed to think perchance I should not have dared.”

“And what of the rest, Lady?  What of the Hebrew who was choking me and of a certain sword thrust that loosed his hands for ever?”

“Of that, your Highness, I can recall nothing, or very little,” then, doubtless remembering what she had just said to me, she made obeisance and passed from the chamber.