“Hush, hush! cousin! remember thou art ill: thy health is precious and thy nerves are overstrained. Canst raise thyself and sit here beside me? See, thou canst pillow thy head upon my shoulder and I can brush away the hair from thy burning forehead with my fingers, which are soft and cool. Or, if thou wilt, I will play for thee upon the harp, and thou shalt watch Sen-tur chase the ibis along the terrace. Hush! do not speak now! Thou shalt tell me thy dream again some other time… but not now.… Now, thou must have rest.”
And with wonderful strength and dexterity she half-lifted, half-supported the Pharaoh and placed him once more upon the couch. Then she sat down beside him and pillowed his head upon her shoulder, and soothingly, as if he were some sick and wayward child, she began to sing and coo to him a simple lullaby. I looked on amazed, not knowing what to do or what to think. Though I watched her closely, I never saw her eyes look anything but sweet, pitying and loving, even though his eyes were closed and his breathing became more and more regular, as if her song had at last rocked him to sleep. I began to think that I must have been mistaken: it seemed impossible to believe that the rigid statue, alive only by the look of horror and repulsion on the stony face, could be the same clinging, loving woman, full of tender pity and girlish compassion for the sick man lying happy and contented in her arms.
CHAPTER XIX.
A KISS
I somehow dared not look at Hugh. I felt his presence near me as rigid as a statue, and once my ears caught the sound of a sigh, which ended almost in a sob.
“Is it for the dying Pharaoh thou sighest, oh, my beloved,” suddenly said a harsh voice close behind us, “or for her who deals death and sorrow with so free a hand?”
It was Queen Maat-kha, who had glided noiselessly near, and now stood beside Hugh, tall and imperious, with an ugly look of hatred directed towards the sleeping Pharaoh and his companion. Hugh started as from a dream. He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to dispel some haunting vision, and turned to his handsome fiancée, who returned his look with a curious searching expression in her eyes.
“Thou dost not answer,” she said. “Was the sigh for her?”
“Indeed, my Queen, it is sad to see so young a girl wooed by a man with one foot in the grave,” replied Hugh at last, speaking with a mighty effort.
“Then thou dost not understand the girl before thee, and hast forgotten that the man, though he have one foot in the grave, has the other firmly planted on the throne of Kamt.”
Princess Neit-akrit must have heard every one of Maat-kha’s words, yet she took no notice of them, and remained quietly watching the sleeping Pharaoh.