"I won't, don't be afraid, I'll sleep here beside you."
"You do love me, yes?" Maki whispered in her ear.
"No, I don't love you a bit. Why, you silly girl, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't torment you so.... there, that's enough talking, go to sleep."
"No, wait a minute, what was I going to say? ... Oh, yes! You know I do not know for certain who came to me then. I told you it was he, Saakera, but I don't really know—perhaps it wasn't he."
"Who was it, then?"
"He Whom I was expecting. I doubted, I did not believe—and this is why I suffer now. I shall die in misery, but when I am dead, perhaps He will come again."
"There, don't let us talk of it, sleep. Shall I tell you a story?"
"Do," Maki answered in a sleepy, childish voice.
"Once upon a time there lived a king and queen," Rita began the tale of the Bewitched Prince, in a sing-song voice like the old nurse, Asa. "One day they prayed to the gods and the gods gave them a son. And when he was born the seven Hathor came to decree his destiny and said, 'this man will meet with death from a crocodile, a snake, or a dog.' And the king was very, very sorry when he heard of this. And he caused a tower to be built in the mountains and settled the prince there. And the prince was very, very happy there...."
She stopped, listened to her sister's even breathing and kissing her on the eyes, that she might have good dreams, went out of the room.