"What did you dream?" Michael said. "Do tell me."
The light was breaking over the valley—not the sun's light, the cold light of dawn. The "heat of Aton" was still withheld.
A blush which was invisible to Michael tinged Meg's clear skin. Her dream had been beautiful, vivid. It had illuminated her world again.
"It was nothing very coherent. I saw no vision, as I did before." Her words were spoken guardedly. "It was the lesson the dream revealed."
"I should like to know, Meg."
"A voice seemed to wake me. It spoke to me of you. I was to help you . . . you were struggling."
"You can help me," Mike said. "You have."
"It spoke of the oldest of all stories, the battle of light against darkness. It said that Egypt in the early days worshipped light; in the days which followed light was swallowed up in the worship of false gods."
"Osiris and Set—you know the legend—the fundamental ethics of all religions."
"I know a little about it," Margaret said. She paused. "Please go on . . . tell me everything."