"She does not love thee," she said after a little silence.
"Thy news is old. She told me that not a moment since."
Ta-user drew a freer breath. "Thou wilt not wed her, then."
"That I will. I have vowed it. Go, Ta-user, the hour is late. Have thy woman stir a potion for thee, and sleep. I would to mine own dreams. They yield me what the day denies."
"Stay, Rameses," she urged, catching at his robes once more. "I would have thee know something. But am I to tell thee in words what I would have thee know? Surely I have not let slip a single chance to show thee by token. Art thou stubborn or blind, that thou dost not pity me and spare me the avowal?"
Rameses looked down at her upturned face without a softening line on his pallid countenance.
"Ta-user," he said deliberately, "had I been mummied and entombed I should have known thine intent. I marvel that thou couldst think I had not seen. Now, hast thou not guessed my mind by this? Have I not been sufficiently explicit? Must I, too, lay bare my heart in words?"
She did not speak for a moment. Then she said eagerly:
"Let not thy jealousy trouble thee concerning Seti—he is naught to me—I love him not—a boy, no more."
"Seti!" he exclaimed contemptuously. "I have no feeling against Seti save for his unfealty to the little child who loves him,—whose heart thou hast most deliberately broken."