Lifting my hand to hide my face, I studied them beneath its shade. Oh! who could be mistaken? There before me, splendid in beauty as of old, stood the god-like Kallikrates and at his side, dark, magnificent and as yet untouched by time, or perchance protected from its ravages by arts she learned from her sire, Nectanebes the sorcerer, was the imperial Amenartas. For a moment I kept silence, gathering up my strength, ordering my spirit. Then still holding my hand before my face, I spoke coldly as though without concern, saying,
Whence come you, noble strangers? What are your names and why do you seek the hospitality of the Queen of this ruined land of Kôr?
Bold as ever, it was Amenartas who answered me, not Kallikrates, who stood staring about him as men do when they are uneasy in their minds or wearied with ceremonies.
We are wanderers, Priestess, in station neither mean nor great; traders, to tell the truth, from the far north, who having suffered shipwreck and many other things at length were rescued of this servant of yours who led us here,
and she pointed to Philo standing near by with a stupid smile upon his face.
By race we are Phoenicians called—
and she gave some name that I forget. As to the rest, being in extremity, for those over whom we ruled rebelled against us and cast us out, we ask shelter from you until Fortune smiles upon us again, who of late has dealt us naught but frowns.
It is granted, Lady. But tell me, what are you to each other? Brother and sister, perchance?
Aye, Priestess, brother and sister, as you have rightly guessed, seeing that our names are one name.
That is strange, Lady; indeed I think that you
