od of gods
had fathered. Never before in her young life had the thing come so home
to her, for until now, even through the hunger and the fear, her pride
had borne her up. But in this chilly hour that precedes the dawn, the
hour when, as they say, men are wont to die, it was otherwise with her.
Her end was near--she knew it and understood that between the mightiest
monarch in the world and the humblest peasant maid at the last there is
no difference, save perchance a difference of the soul within.

Here she lay, a shadow, who must choose between a miserable end by
thirst and hunger, or a loathsome marriage. And what availed it that she
was called Morning-Star of Amen, she the only child of Pharaoh and of
his royal wife, and that when she was dead they would grant her a state
funeral, and inscribe her name among the lists of kings, while Abi, the
foul usurper, sat upon her throne. Here on the bed lay what she was,
there at the foot of it stood what she should be if the gods had not
deserted her.

Her poor heart was filled with bitterness like a cup with vinegar,
bitterness flowed through her in the place of blood. It seemed hard
to die so young, she whom men named a god; to die robbed of her crown,
robbed of her vengeance, and taking with her her deep, unfruitful love.
Would she and Rames meet beyond the grave, she wondered? Would they wed
and bear children there, who should rule as Pharaohs in the Under-world?
Would Osiris redeem her mortal flesh, and Amen the Father, receive her;
or would she rush down into everlasting blackness where sleep is all in
all?

Oh! for one hour of strength and freedom, one short hour while at the
head of her armies she rolled down upon rebellious Memphis in her might,
and trod its high walls flat, and gave its palaces to the flames,
and cast its accursed prince to the jaws of crocodiles. Her sunk eyes
flashed at the thought of it, and her wasted bosom heaved, and lo! the
eyes of that royal queen of her dreams flashed also as though in answer,
and on its breast the jewels rose as though pride or anger lifted them.

Then this marvel came to pass, for the beautiful face--could her own
ever have been so beautiful?--the imperial face, bent forward a little,
and from the red lips came a soft voice, her own rich voice, that said:

"Speak your will, Queen, and it shall be done. I, who stand here, am
your servant to command, O Morning-Star, O Amen's royal child."

Tua sat up in her bed and lau