A flash of pride shone in his eyes that had been empty of light and filled with tears. He lifted his head stiffly as though still it felt the weight of the great earrings of state, the golden urasus, and the double crown. For a moment he looked as once he had done at Sais reviewing his triumphant army after his first victory over the Persians and drinking in the incense of its shouts, yes, he looked as great Thotmes and the proud Rameses might have done in their day, a Pharaoh, the king of all the world he knew.
It would be well to die thus,
he murmured, it would be very well, and then, perhaps, the gods I have betrayed would forgive me, the old, old gods to whom thirty dynasties of recorded kings have bowed the knee, and those who went before them for unnumbered generations. Yes, then perhaps that great company of Pharaohs would not turn their backs on me or spit at me when I join them at the table of Osiris. But, Prophetess
—here his face fell in again and his crab-like eyes projected and rolled, while his voice sank to a whisper, Prophetess, I dare not.
Why, Nectanebes?
Because—oh! because years ago I struck a bargain with a certain Power of the Under-world, a daemon if you will, at least some spirit of evil that comes I know not whence and dwells I know not where, which became manifest to me. It promised me glory and success if I would sacrifice to it—nay, I will not tell what I sacrificed, but once I had a son, yes, like Tenes I had a son—
Here I, Ayesha, shivered, then motioned to him to speak on.
This was the bargain, that though to please the people I might build temples to the gods, by certain
