“Then I beg of you not to choose, Ayesha, since I think that when there is work to be done by both of us, we shall find more comfort side by side than if I were on the ground seeking to kiss a garment that doubtless then it would delight you to snatch away.”

At these words her whole attitude seemed to change.  I could see her lovely shape brace itself up, as it were, beneath her robes and felt in some way that her mind had also changed; that it had rid itself of mockery and woman’s pique and like a shifting searchlight, was directed upon some new objective.

“Work to be done,” she repeated after me in a new voice.  “Yes, I thank you who bring it to my mind, since the hours pass and that work presses.  Also I think there is a bargain to be made between us who are both of the blood that keeps bargains, even if they be not written on a roll and signed and sealed.  Why do you come to me and what do you seek of me, Allan, Watcher-in-the-Night?  Say it and truthfully, for though I may laugh at lies and pass them by when they have to do with the eternal sword-play which Nature decrees between man and woman, until these break apart or, casting down the swords, seek arms in which they agree too well, when they have to do with policy and high purpose and ambition’s ends, why then I avenge them upon the liar.”

Now I hesitated, as what I had to tell her seemed so foolish, indeed so insane, while she waited patiently as though to give me time to shape my thoughts.  Speaking at last because I must, I said,

“I come to ask you, Ayesha, to show me the dead, if the dead still live elsewhere.”

“And who told you, Allan, that I could show you the dead, if they are not truly dead?  There is but one, I think, and if you are his messenger, show me his token.  Without it we do not speak together of this business.”

“What token?” I asked innocently, though I guessed her meaning well enough.

She searched me with her great eyes, for I felt, and indeed saw them on me through the veil, then answered,

“I think—­nay, let me be sure,” and half rising from the couch, she bent her heard over the tripod that I have described, and stared into what seemed to be a crystal bowl.  “If I read aright,” she said, straightening herself presently, “it is a hideous thing enough, the carving of an abortion of a man such as no woman would care to look on lest her babe should bear its stamp.  It is a charmed thing also that has virtues for him who wears it, especially for you, Allan, since something tells me that it is dyed with the blood of one who loved you.  If you have it, let it be revealed, since without it I do not talk with you of these dead you seek.”

Now I drew Zikali’s talisman from its hiding-place and held it towards her.

“Give it to me,” she said.

I was about to obey when something seemed to warn me not to do so.