“I am glad, physician,” answered a voice that I knew to be that of Userti, “since without a doubt, had it not been for Ana, his Highness would have perished. It is strange that one whom I thought to be nothing but a dreaming scribe should have shown himself so brave a warrior. The Prince says that this Ana killed three of those dogs with his own hands, and wounded others.” “It was well done, your Highness,” answered the physician, “but still better was his forethought in providing a rear-guard and in despatching the charioteer to call it up. It seems to have been the Hebrew lady who really saved the life of his Highness, when, forgetting her sex, she stabbed the murderer who had him by the throat.” “That is the Prince’s tale, or so I understand,” she answered coldly. “Yet it seems strange that a weak and worn-out girl could have pierced a giant through from back to breast.” “At least she warned him of the ambush, your Highness.” “So they say. Perhaps Ana here will soon tell us the truth about these matters. Tend him well, physician, and you shall not lack for your reward.” Then they went away, still talking, and I lay quiet, filled with thankfulness and wonder, for now everything came back to me. A while later, as I lay with my eyes still shut, for even that low light seemed to hurt them, I became aware of a woman’s soft step stealing round my bed and of a fragrance such as comes from a woman’s robes and hair. I looked and saw Merapi’s star-like eyes gazing down on me just as I had seen them in my dreams. “Greeting, Moon of Israel,” I said. “Of a truth we meet again in strange case.” “Oh!” she whispered, “are you awake at last? I thank God, Scribe Ana, who for three days thought that you must die.” “As, had it not been for you, Lady, surely I should have done—I and another. Now it seems that all three of us will live.” “Would that but two lived, the Prince and you, Ana. Would that _I_ had died,” she answered, sighing heavily. “Why?” “Cannot you guess? Because I am an outcast who has betrayed my people. Because their blood flows between me and them. For I killed that man, and he was my own kinsman, for the sake of an Egyptian—I mean, Egyptians. Therefore the curse of Jahveh is on me, and as my kinsman died doubtless I shall die in a day to come, and afterwards—what?” “Afterwards peace and great reward, if there be justice in earth or heaven, O most noble among women.” “Would that I could think so! Hush, I hear steps. Drink this; I am the chief of your nurses, Scribe Ana, an honourable post, since to-day all Egypt loves and praises you.” “Surely it is you, lady Merapi, whom all Egypt should love and praise,” I answered. Then the Prince Seti entered. I strove to salute him by lifting my less injured arm, but he caught my hand and pressed it tenderly.