Morning Star. Генри Райдер Хаггард

of speech.

      “The Queen does not forget what the child remembered, the goddess is still a woman,” it seemed to say. And so sweet was that message that Rames staggered from the Court like one stricken by the sun.

      Night came at last, and having dismissed her secretaries, scribes and tire-women the weary girl, now clad in simple white, sat in her chamber alone. She thought of all the splendours through which she had passed; she thought of the glories of her imperial state, of the power that she wielded, and of the proud future which stretched before her feet. But most of all she thought of the face of the young Count Rames, the playmate of her childhood, the man she loved, and wondered, ah! how she wondered, if with all her power she could ever draw him to her side. If not, of what use was this rule over millions, this dominion of her world? They called her a goddess, and in truth, at times, she believed that she was half-divine, but if so, why did her heart ache like that of any common maid?

      Moreover, was she really set above the misfortunes of her race? Could a throne, however bright with gold, lift her above the sorrows of human kind? She desired to learn the truth, the very truth. Her mind was urgent, it drove her on to search out things to come, to stand face to face with them, even if they were evil. Well, she believed she had the strength, although, as yet, she had never called it to her aid.

      Also this thing could not be done alone. Tua thought a while, then going to the door of her chamber she bade a woman who waited without summon to her the Lady Asti, priestess of Amen, Interpreter of Heaven. Presently Asti came, for now, as always, she was in attendance upon the new-crowned queen, a tall and noble-looking woman with fine-cut features and black hair, that although she was fifty years of age, still showed no trace of grey.

      “I was in the Sanctuary when your Majesty summoned me,” she said, pointing to the sacred robe she wore. “Let your Majesty pardon me, therefore, if I have been long in coming,” and she bowed low before her.

      But the Queen lifted her up and kissed her, saying,

      “I am weary of those high titles whereof I have heard more than enough to-day. Call me Tua, O my mother, for so you have ever been to me, from whose breast I drew the milk of life.”

      “What ails you, my child?” asked Asti. “Was the crown too heavy for this young head of yours?” she added, stretching out her delicate hand and stroking the black and curling hair.

      “Aye, Mother, the weight of it seemed to crush me with its gems and gold. I am weary and yet I cannot sleep. Tell me, why did Pharaoh summon that Council after the feast? Mermes was one of them, so you must know. And why was not I, who henceforth rule with Pharaoh, present with him?”

      “Would you learn?” said Asti with a little smile. “Well, as Queen you have the right. It was because they discussed the matter of your marriage.”

      For a moment a light shone upon Tua’s face. Then she asked anxiously:

      “My marriage, and with whom?”

      “Oh! many names were mentioned, Child, since she who rules Egypt does not lack for suitors.”

      “Tell me them quick, Asti.”

      So she told them, there were seven in all, the Prince of Kesh, the sons of foreign kings, great nobles, and a general of the army who claimed descent from a former Pharaoh.

      As each name fell from Asti’s lips Tua waved her hand, saying scornful words, such as “I know him not,” “Too old,” “Fat and hideous,” “A foreign dog who spits upon our gods,” and so forth, adding at last:

      “Go on.”

      “That is all, Lady, no other name was mentioned, and the Council adjourned to consider these.”

      “No other name?”

      “Do you then miss one, perchance, Tua?”

      She made no answer, only her lips seemed to shape themselves to a certain sound that they did not utter. The two women looked each other in the eyes, then Asti shook her head.

      “It may not be,” she whispered, “for many reasons, and amongst them that by the solemn decree of long ago whereof I have told you, our blood is barred for ever from the throne. None would dare to break it, not even the Pharaoh himself. You would bring my son to his death, Tua, which such another look as you gave him in yonder hall would surely do.”

      “No,” she answered slowly, “I would not bring him to his death, but to life and honour and—love, and one day I shall be Pharaoh. Only, Asti, if you betray me to him I swear that I will bring you to your death, although you are so dear.”

      “I shall not betray you,” answered the priestess, smiling again. “In truth, most Beautiful, I do not think there is any need, even if I would. Say now, why did a certain captain turn faint and leave the hall to-day when your eyes chanced to fall on him?”

      “The heat,” suggested Tua, colouring.

      “Yes, it was hot, but he is stronger than most men and had borne it long—like others. Still there are fires——”

      “Because he was afraid of my majesty,” broke in Tua hurriedly. “You know I looked very royal there, Mother.”

      “Yes, doubtless fear moved him—or some other passion. Yet, Beloved, put that thought from your heart as I do. When you are Pharaoh you will learn that a monarch is a slave to the people and to the law. Breathe but his name in love, and never will you see him more till you meet before Osiris.”

      Tua hid her eyes in her hands for a moment, then she glanced up and there was another look upon her face, a strange, new look.

      “When I am Pharaoh,” she answered, “there are certain matters in which I will be my own law, and if the people do not like it, they may find another Pharaoh.”

      Asti started at her words, and a light of joy shone in her deep eyes.

      “Truly your heart is high,” she said; “but, oh! if you love me—and another—bury that thought, bury it deep, or he will never live to see you placed alone upon the golden seat. Know, Lady, that already from hour to hour I fear for him—lest he should drink a poisoned cup, lest at night he should chance to stumble against a spear, lest an arrow—shot in sport—should fall against his throat and none know whence it came.”

      Tua clenched her hands.

      “If so, there should be such vengeance as Egypt has not heard of since Mena ruled.”

      “Of what use is vengeance, Child, when the heart is empty and the tomb is sealed?”

      Again Tua thought. Then she said:

      “There are other gods besides Osiris. Now what do men call me, Mother? Nay, not my royal names.”

      “They call you Morning Star of Amen; they call you Daughter of Amen.”

      “Is that story true, Asti the Magician?”

      “Aye, at least your mother dreamed the dream, for she told it to me and I have read its record, who am a priestess of Amen.”

      “Then this high god should love me, should he not? He should hear my prayers and give me power—he should protect those who are dear to me. Mother, they say that you, the Mistress of secret things, can open the ears of the gods and cause their mouths to speak. Mother, I command you as your Queen, call up my father Amen before me, so that I may talk with him, for I have words to which he must listen.”

      “Are you not afraid?” asked Asti, looking at her curiously. “He is the greatest of all the gods, and to summon him lightly is a sacrilege.”

      “Should a daughter fear her father?” answered Tua.

      “When the divine Queen your mother and Pharaoh knelt before him in his shrine, praying that a child might be given to them, Amen did not deign to appear to them, save afterwards in a dream. Will you dare more than they? Lie down and dream, O Star of