Then at last Amada spoke.

“Had I known all this story from the first, perhaps I should not have done what I have done to-day and perhaps I should have forgiven and forgotten, for in truth even if the dwarf still lies, I believe your word, O Shabaka, and understand how all came about.  But now it is too late to change.  Say, O Priest of the Mother, is it not too late?”

“It is too late,” said the priest solemnly, “seeing that if such vows as yours are broken for the second time, O Prophetess, the curse of the goddess will pursue you and him for whom they were broken, yes, through this life and all other lives that perchance may be given to you upon the earth or elsewhere.”

“Pharaoh,” I cried in despair, “I made a bond with you.  It is recorded in writing and sealed.  I have kept my part of the bond; my treasure you have spent; your enemies I have slain; your army I have commanded not so ill.  Will you not keep yours and bid the priests release this lady from her vow and give her to me to whom she was promised?  Or must I believe that you refuse, not because of goddesses and vows, but because yonder is the Royal Lady of Egypt, the true heiress to the throne who might perchance bear children, which as prophetess of Isis she can never do.  Yes, because of this and because of certain cries that came to your ears in the hour of your crowning before Amen-ra and all the gods?”

Peroa flushed as he heard me and answered,

“You speak roughly, Cousin, and were you any other man I might be tempted to answer roughly.  But I know that you suffer and therefore I forgive.  Nay, you must believe no such things.  Rather must you remember that in this bond of which you speak, it was set down that I only promised you the lady Amada with her own consent, and this she has withdrawn.”

“Then, Pharaoh, hearken!  To-morrow I leave Egypt for another land, giving you back your generalship and sheathing the sword that I had hoped to wield in its defence and yours when the last great day of trial by battle comes, as come it will.  I tell you that I go to return no more, unless the lady Amada yonder shall summon me back to fight for her and you, promising herself to me in guerdon.”

“That can never be,” said Amada.

Then I became aware of another presence in the room, though how and when it appeared I do not know, but I suppose that it had crept in while we were lost in talk.  At least between me and Pharaoh, crouched upon the ground, was the figure of a man wrapped in a beggar’s cloak.  It threw back the hood and there appeared the ashen face and snowy beard of the holy Tanofir.