CHAPTER VIII
They were back in the valley again and splendid work was going on at the camp. Another two weeks' hard digging had done wonders, and Margaret and Michael had found each other again.
In the dawn, two mornings after the dance, when the mysterious figures, heralding the light, were abandoning themselves to their God on the desert sands, Mike had seen Margaret standing at her hut-door, watching, as he himself so often watched, for the glory which was of Aton to flood the desert with light. Meg's eyes the day before had told Michael that she was unhappy; he knew now that she had not slept.
While the white figures were still bent earthwards and the little streak of light was scarcely more than visible, Michael went to her and asked her forgiveness.
"Forgive me," he said. "I need forgiveness."
Meg took his hand. "I hate not being friends. Thank you."
"It made me miserable," he said.
"Then let's forget. I was stupid. This is all too big and great for such smallness." She indicated the coming of the unearthly light.
"Thy dawning, O Aton," Michael said.
Margaret smiled. "He was very far from us at Assuan."