“Well! we shall know soon enough. I wish he could manage to tell us how he came across those hills, and how best we can find our way.”
I had poured a few drops of brandy down the dying maniac’s throat; it revived him momentarily, for he gave a gasp and murmured:
“Is this thy fire, oh! Osiris?”
“It is life,” said Hugh.
“Life is a curse outside the gates of Kamt.”
“Then thou must endeavour to go back to Kamt.”
And the dying man whispered, after a pause, while his head rolled from side to side upon his shoulders:
“The gates are closed for ever that cast out the evil-doer.… No one can enter Kamt, but thou, oh! Osiris, on thy crested eagle, or thou, Anubis, astride on thy winged jackal.”
He had begun to wander again in the realms of merciful oblivion; his eyes gradually closed, while his lips continued to murmur:
“Take thou my soul, oh! Anubis.… Pardon.… Mercy.… The gates are guarded… I cannot return.… Oh, great and glorious land of Kamt… where eternal streams flow between marble dwellings and gardens of lotus and lilies… where at night Isis smiles down on the beautiful daughters of Kamt… dark-eyed and slim as the white gazelles of the fields… I shall not behold thy loveliness again… my soul flies from my body… already… I feel thy hand… oh! Anubis! guiding me to that mysterious land… where dwelleth Ra… and where thou sittest in judgment, oh, Osiris, the Most High.…”