Meg listened intently to the words. They were part of Akhnaton's Hymn to the Rising Sun, the hymn which Mike had repeated to her.
She waited until the words were lost in the silent hour. Every thought of hers was known to the sad eyes, every longing in her heart to be given power to speak was understood. It seemed to come naturally to her, the understanding of the needlessness for her to do aught but listen. The vision was her over-soul, her higher self, which understood.
"You have delivered my message. I have seen, I have approved. The Lord of Peace, the Living Aton, besides whom there is none other, has brought Life to his heart. The beauty of Aton is there."
It was of Michael the vision spoke. Meg never doubted. "His pleasure is to do thy bidding," she said. The words were the unstudied, simple truth.
"I have seen, always I have guided, always I have prayed. I have revealed to him the Light which is Truth. His work, which is the Love of Aton, is in his heart. The Lord of Fate has perfected it."
"I would have him go, and yet, because I am not fully in the Light, I would have him stay. All that is in my heart is plain to you—my fears, my joys, my imperfect faith. I ask for help; I am troubled."
"There is no poverty, no fear, for those who have set Aton in their hearts; for my servant there is no danger. Hearts have health where Aton shines."
"But for me—how can I help him?"
"By the perfection of Love."
"But my love is imperfect. It is not divine. I fear for his bodily welfare. I cannot willingly offer him to the Aton of whom you speak. I can only understand my own selfish love . . . it is human."