“Then, thou hast no wish to forget?”
“Rosemary, which is for remembrance, will be my most cherished flower. Give me that one, Neit-akrit, out of the bunch… touch it once with thy lips and then let the poor fool go his way.”
Ill, paralysed, numbed as I was, all my hopes tended towards the beautiful girl who alone could keep Hugh away from the terrible danger. I longed to give her courage to tell Hugh all, yet feared every moment that she would, and that he would not believe, that his loyalty to his bride should not allow him to listen to terrible accusations framed against her by another woman. The moments were precious; already through the distant gate the light of dawn grew stronger and more clear.
“Nay! what is the use?” she said, as she drew a step back from him; “thou dost seem to remember all that thou dost wish—thy duty, thy word; the white rosemary should not come from me.”
“Sweet Neit-akrit, thou art a child,” he said with almost rough earnestness. “Thou dost not understand—how couldst thou? I am a senseless fool.… Give me thy hands to kiss… place them both upon my mouth… for I dare not take them in mine… lest their touch should indeed make me forget…”
Quietly she pulled from out the canopy of flowers a bunch of white pansies, and stretching out both her hands up to him she murmured:
“White pansies for forgetfulness!”
He had fallen on his knees, and his arms encircled her dainty figure. She turned towards the statue of the goddess as if to beg of the cold, immovable image inspiration and perhaps strength. Ay! she needed all her woman’s wits; there were a hundred unseen enemies to fight, and one whom she feared more than any—the other woman to whom he had plighted his troth. I suppose she found it hard to say to him, “Beware, that woman has murdered her son; she even now has planned thy ruin.” Supposing his loyalty forbade him to listen! Her accusations to him might sound like the words of a woman mad with jealousy… and she thought that she could not prove them; she did not know I, too, had seen and heard, that I was here, close by, a caged and useless log, a dumb beast, while twenty priests—a hundred, if need be—were ready to swear that she lied.
And I was helpless—a caged, helpless, dumb creature—and the minutes were speeding so fast.
Suddenly from afar the sacred heralds of Osiris rang out upon their golden trumpets the announcement of the sun-god’s approach.