There was a King in Egypt

by Norma Lorimer

"Of course I will," he said. "Else how could I help you?"

"It's your very goodness I love, Michael. I realize that. And yet how horribly I have tried to spoil it!"

"We are going to start afresh, we understand each other." He looked at her with sincere eyes. "Isn't that so? Do you want me for your friend, Millicent?"

"More than anything in the world . . . except . . ." she paused. ". . . except . . ."

His eyes held hers; they became stern. "We have settled all that. You know now that it can never be, and if I am to be your friend, you must forget all that you have ever said."

"Yes, yes—the crumbs, Mike, they are sweeter than nothing."

"My help," he said, "and sympathy—that is what I can give you."

"And may I remain in your camp for a little time?"

"No." His voice was firm. "We must part. But that will make no difference. I will help you, I promise. I can help you as Margaret helps me."

Millicent made no demur. It was useless. "Will the saint be well enough to travel to-morrow, do you think?"