rested on his breast. They separated. She vanished into the shadows and went her way, while he walked to and fro across the court, muttering to himself like a man who knows not what he does.
I came from my place and met him, saying,
Surely you are troubled, Priest. Can it be that the goddess refuses your prayers? Or is it perchance that you weary of them and would still play the part of a warrior of warriors as you did on the galley Hapi, or but the other day yonder in the northern marshes? If so, it is too late, Priest, for Egypt is fallen and all is lost. That is, unless, like Mentor and many of your race, you would sell your sword to Ochus Artaxerxes.
Aye, Prophetess,
he answered, Egypt is lost which, being a Greek, should not trouble me over much, and I too am lost, I, the driven of an evil fate.
Speak on if it pleases you. Or be silent if it pleases you, O Priest. What the prophetess hears, she tells only to the Mother.
Then I turned and went back into the shadow of the shrine where I leaned against a pillar—I remember that on it was sculptured the scene of Thoth weighing hearts before Osiris. Here I waited, wondering whether he would follow me or go his ways.
For a while he stood hesitating, but at length he followed me.
Prophetess,
he said hoarsely, I speak under the veil of Isis, knowing that such confessions cannot be revealed. Yet it is hard to speak, since the matter has to do with woman, aye, and with yourself, most holy Prophetess.
In Isis I have no self,
I answered.
Prophetess, in bygone years, as I think you know,
