“You bet it is!” Danbazzar assured him. “Look at her!” Barry glanced, guiltily, toward the divan. He started. Zalithea was watching them with a stare of such murderous anger that his heart seemed to turn cold! He would never have conceived it possible that her youthful features could assume a look of such utter malignancy. Watching her, fascinated against his will, he experienced again that awful tingling of the spine which he had known during his vigil in the valley on the night he had heard the strange voice. Definitely, he knew in this moment that it had been _her_ voice… although she had lain buried deep in the heart of the rock! Yes, this girl-woman, this child-witch who had first seen the light in an island unknown to modern geography, was uncanny! Danbazzar’s deep tones broke in upon the silence; he addressed Zalithea in the musical, oddly monotonous language which Barry was beginning to recognize as that which the Pharaohs spoke. Then: “Come on!” he said abruptly. “I can hear Tawwab.” He raised the tent cloth. Barry was about to follow him out, when: “Bahree!” came softly. He turned. Danbazzar had gone, dropping the curtain. He was alone with Zalithea! Half fearfully, he looked at her.… She was resting on her elbow, watching him, and her sweet lips were arched in a smile which revealed little gleaming teeth! Her eyes, widely opened now, were deep pools of contrition; her delicate nostrils quivered. She was on the verge of tears! Barry experienced a dramatic revulsion of feeling. In his hard, modern, Western self-sufficiency, he had wounded the tender susceptibilities of this sheltered flower of the East. What did _he_, or Danbazzar, for that matter, know of courts and palaces? Much less they knew of the splendid ceremony of those old, dead days when Seti, from Thebes of the Hundred Gates, ruled a mighty empire! He hated himself and hated Danbazzar. They had a princess among them, and they treated her like a chambermaid! They discussed her as though she were a marketable relic, to be bought and sold--this living, lovely revelation of the wonder that was Egypt! Some remote ancestor who had known the meaning of homage came to life in Barry; seized him by the scruff of the neck and forced him onto his knees. Very near to Zalithea he knelt, his head bowed, waiting for pardon. Instantly it was granted. A little hesitant hand touched his hair; and he looked up. The girl’s long, curling lashes, the most perfect he had ever seen, were wet with tears. “Forgive me!” he burst out, forgetting that she could not understand. “I--he--neither of us--meant to hurt you!” She smiled through her tears and touched his hair again. “Bahree,” she said, and made a quaint gesture which conveyed dismissal of the subject.