“From the Most High the Princess Neit-akrit, of the house of Memmoun-ra, to the beloved of the gods, greeting.”
And again he knelt and presented Hugh with a dainty tablet, on which a few words had been engraved upon a sheet of wax. I thought for one moment that the Queen would snatch it out of his hand, but evidently, mindful of her own dignity, she thought better of it and stood a little on one side, pale and frowning, while a slave brought a torch close to Hugh and held it over his head to enable him to read.
“From the humblest of thy worshippers, greeting, oh, well-beloved of Ra, envoy of Osiris. This is to apprise thee that the dwelling of thy servant will be ready to receive thee on the day after to-morrow, and Neit-akrit will be waiting to welcome thee when Isis is high in the heavens. Wilt honour her and her house by setting thy foot upon its threshold?”
“Do not go, my beloved,” whispered the Queen, excitedly.
“Tell thy mistress, messenger,” said Hugh, calmly, “that on the day after to-morrow, when Isis is high in the heavens, I and my counsellor will lay our homage at her feet, according to her will.”
The messenger salaamed again. Queen Maat-kha, among her many powers, had evidently not the one of killing with a look, for probably otherwise the unfortunate messenger would have paid dearly for the privilege of bringing Princess Neit-akrit’s greeting. As it was, he was allowed to depart in peace, and a few very uncomfortable moments followed—uncomfortable, at least, as far as two of us were concerned, for good old Hugh seemed highly amused at the episode, and even had the heartless impudence to give me a nudge, which fortunately the Queen did not see.
“Wilt thou not bid me farewell, my Queen?” he said, trying to keep up a sentimental tone. “It is time I went to the judgment-hall, for Isis will appear anon.”
But without another word she had turned away before Hugh could stop her, and had disappeared among the trees, while we both heard a heavy, almost heart-broken sob, which I think ought to have filled Hugh’s heart with remorse.
CHAPTER X.
THE JUDGMENT-HALL OF MEN-NE-FER
Half an hour later we were being rowed down the canal by moonlight on our way to the judgment-hall of Men-ne-fer, and had full leisure to discuss the funny little incident in the garden.