"That is not necessary. Aton's love is great and large. It filled the two lands of Egypt; it fills the world to-day."
"But I am ignorant. You think I understand—I don't. . . . I can do nothing."
The sad eyes in the emaciated face, the face of a saint and fanatic, smiled at her fears so tenderly that Margaret's heart was less troubled.
"You can tell the one who is to do my work, the one who knows and loves Aton, Aton—the compassionate, the all-Merciful. Tell him that I bid him take up my work."
"Your work?" Margaret said. "You were a king of ancient Egypt. . . . You speak as if you had worshipped our God . . . there is no one who can do your work . . ." She paused, and then said nervously, "Egypt is different now—it cannot go back."
"Egypt must go on, not back. Nothing is different in the heart of man; your soul is as my soul. Aton liveth for ever in his children. He filleth the two lands of Egypt with his love. I was his messenger."
"But who was Aton?" Margaret said. In her mind she was striving to recall if she had ever heard any references to the worship of one god in Egypt, except by the children of Israel.
"The one who is to do my work will tell you. He has studied my teachings, he understands the love of Aton, whose rays encompass the world."
"Thank you," Margaret said. "I will tell him." She knew instinctively that it was Michael who "understood."
"He knows my work and my desire for the people of Egypt. He knows that my people worship one God, but that they have no love of God in their hearts."