Michael said no more; he had buried his face in his two hands. He would have given his youth to have seen what Margaret had seen.
"Then you don't think it was a dream?"
"How could you have dreamed the very appearance of Akhnaton, or dreamed his personality, when you have never heard of him?"
"I suppose I couldn't," she said. "But was Akhnaton unlike any other
Pharaoh of Egypt?"
"As unlike as St. Francis was to Nero."
A sudden idea came to Margaret. "But," she said, "he spoke to me in English, in my own language. If it was really the spirit of Akhnaton, how could he?"
"Dear Meg, there are more things in divine philosophy than are dreamed of by you or me. In what language did Our Saviour speak to St. Francis, who was an Italian, and to St. Catherine?"
"That is true," Margaret said, in a changed tone. "Will you tell me all about this Pharaoh?"
Michael thought before answering her question, and then he said, "I'd rather not, not yet."
"But why?"