We walked for a little way in silence. Then I spoke.
“Amada, there are more things than thrones in the world.”
“Yes, Cousin, there is that in which all thrones end—death, which it seems we court.”
“And, Amada, there is that in which all thrones begin—love, which I court from you.”
“I have known it long,” she said, considering me gravely, “and been grateful to you who are more to me than any man has been or ever will be. But, Shabaka, I am a priestess bound to set the holy One I serve above a mortal.”
“That holy One was wed and bore a child, Amada, who avenged his father, as I trust that we shall avenge Egypt. Therefore she looks with a kind eye upon wives and mothers. Also you have not taken your final vows and can be absolved.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Then, Amada, will you give yourself into my keeping?”
“I think so, Shabaka, though it has been in my mind for long, as you know well, to give myself only to learning and the service of the heavenly Lady. My heart calls me to you, it is true, day and night it calls, how loudly I will not tell; yet I would not yield myself to that alone. But Egypt calls me also, since I have been shown in a dream while I watched in the sanctuary, that you are the only man who can free her, and I think that this dream came from on high. Therefore I will give myself, but not yet.”
“Not yet,” I said dismayed. “When?”