The vaulted niche in the wall where once Amon's great Ram had lain on a couch of purple in the brilliant light of sanctuary lamps, was dark and empty: the animal had just died and its body was being embalmed.
Merira told the two priests who were in the room to go out, and, approaching the couch with the dead man upon it, knelt down, bending towards him. The dead man opened his young, living, immortal eyes; his lips whispered with the rustle of dry leaves:
"Is it you, Merira?"
"Yes."
"Blessed be the True, the Only God! I have waited seven years for you, my son, I knew that you would come—that I would not die without seeing you. Why did you tarry so long? Did you think I would not forgive you? I will forgive everything. Well, tell me, are you with him or with me?"
"Oh, if I only knew, if I only knew, father! This is why I have suffered so for seven years—because I don't know on whose side I am. Perhaps I am neither with you nor with him."
"There is no middle course."
"To an honest man there is not, but to a vile one anything is possible. For seven years I have done nothing but deceive myself and others. Don't torment me, father, don't ask me, decide yourself on whose side I am!"
"If I do you will not believe me. Do you remember your oath?"
"What are oaths to me? I have broken them long ago."