the sword. Why, the thing is easy so thou rest true to thyself, and let no womanish fears creep into thy heart. What is this dagger’s thrust? It is nothing, and yet upon it hang the destinies of Egypt and the world.” “Hush!” I said. “What is that?--I hear a sound.” Charmion ran to the door, and, gazing down the long, dark passage, listened. In a moment she came back, her finger on her lips. “It is the Queen,” she whispered hurriedly; “the Queen who mounts the stair alone. I heard her bid Iras to leave her. I may not be found alone with thee at this hour; it has a strange look, and she may suspect. What wants she here? Where can I hide?” I glanced round. At the further end of the chamber was a heavy curtain that hid a little place built in the thickness of the wall which I used for the storage of rolls and instruments. “Haste thee--there!” I said, and she glided behind the curtain, which swung back and covered her. Then I thrust the fatal scroll of death into the bosom of my robe and bent over the mystic chart. Presently I heard the sweep of woman’s robes and there came a low knock upon the door. “Enter, whoever thou art,” I said. The latch lifted, and Cleopatra swept in, royally arrayed, her dark hair hanging about her and the sacred snake of royalty glistening on her brow. “Of a truth, Harmachis,” she said with a sigh, as she sank into a seat, “the path to heaven is hard to climb! Ah! I am weary, for those stairs are many. But I was minded, my astronomer, to see thee in thy haunts.” “I am honoured overmuch, O Queen!” I said, bowing low before her. “Art thou now? And yet that dark face of thine has a somewhat angry look--thou art too young and handsome for this dry trade, Harmachis. Why, I vow thou hast cast my wreath of roses down amidst thy rusty tools! Kings would have cherished that wreath along with their choicest diadems, Harmachis! and thou dost throw it away as a thing of no account! Why, what a man art thou! But stay; what is this? A lady’s kerchief, by Isis! Nay, now, my Harmachis, how came _this_ here? Are our poor kerchiefs also instruments of thy high art? Oh, fie, fie!--have I caught thee, then? Art thou indeed a fox?” “Nay, most royal Cleopatra, nay!” I said, turning; for the kerchief which had fallen from Charmion’s neck had an awkward look. “I know not, indeed, how the frippery came here. Perhaps, some one of the women who keeps the chamber may have let it fall.”