Then I began to think and swiftly. Had he not warned me when I bade him farewell a while before that we spoke together for the last time? Where was my faith who had forgotten that the prophecies of Noot were always true? So he had gone to his rest in the bosom of Osiris, and on me had fallen his mantle. I, Ayesha, was the guardian of the Fire of Life whereof alone I knew the secrets and held the key! The knowledge struck me like a blow; I trembled and sank to the ground. I think that for a little while I swooned and in that swoon strange dreams took hold of me, half-remembered dreams, dreams not to be written.
Presently I rose and going to the doorway summoned the others, who stood there huddled together like sheep before a storm.
“Enter,” I said, and they obeyed. “Now be seated and eat,” I went on, pointing to the table on which the food was ready.
“Where is the master of the feast, Prophetess? Where is the holy Noot whom we have walked this fearful road to see?” asked Kallikrates, staring about him.
“Yonder,” I answered, pointing to the depths of the shadow, “yonder—dead and cold. You tarried too long at Kôr, Kallikrates. Now you must seek his counsel and his absolution at another table—that of Osiris.”
Thus I spoke, for something inspired the words, yet ere they had left my lips I could have bitten out the tongue that shaped them. Was this the place to talk of the Table of Osiris to the man I loved?
They went to that dark nook where the little sacred statue looked down upon its quiet worshipper. They stared in silence; they returned, Philo muttering prayers, Kallikrates wringing his hands, for he had loved and honoured Noot above any man that lived. Also—I read the question in his mind—to whom now should he confess his sins? Who now could loose their burden?
Only Amenartas pondered a space; then she spoke with a slow and meaning smile, saying,
“Perchance, my lord, it is as well that this old high-priest has gone to discover whether he dreamed true dreams for so many years upon the earth. I know not what you would have said to him, yet I can guess that it boded but little good to me, your wife, for so I am, whatever yonder priestess may tell you, who also bodes little good either to me or to you, my lord Kallikrates. Well, he is dead and even Wisdom’s Daughter there cannot bring him back to life. So let us rest a while and eat, and then return by that dread road which we have trodden, ere our strength and spirit fail us.”
“That you may not do, Princess Amenartas, until the sunset comes again and once more the red ray shows us where to set our feet, for to attempt it sooner is to die,” I answered, and went on: