ce
they had never told him to curse Merapi, and much less attempt to kill
her, and that the Prince did right to slay one who would have done
murder before his royal eyes. Still they added that the curse, having
once been spoken by this priest, would surely fall upon Merapi in this
way or in that."

"What then should she do, Jabez?"

"I do not know, Scribe. If she returns to her people, perchance she
will be absolved, but then she must surely marry Laban. It is for her to
judge."

"And what would you do if you were in her place, Jabez?"

"I think that I should stay where I was, and make myself very dear to
Seti, taking the chance that the curse may pass her by, since it was not
lawfully decreed upon her. Whichever way she looks, trouble waits, and
at the worst, a woman might wish to satisfy her heart before it falls,
especially if that heart should happen to turn to one who will be
Pharaoh."

"Why do you say 'who will be Pharaoh,' Jabez?" I asked, for we were
standing in an empty place alone.

"That I may not tell you," he replied cunningly, "yet it will come about
as I say. He who sits upon the throne is mad as Meneptah was mad,
and will fight against a strength that is greater than his until it
overwhelms him. In the Prince's heart alone does the light of wisdom
shine. That which you saw to-day is only the first of many miracles,
Scribe Ana. I can say no more."

"What then is your message, Jabez?"

"This: Because the Prince has striven to deal well with the people of
Israel and for their sake has cast aside a crown, whatever may chance
to others, let him fear nothing. No harm shall come to him, or to those
about him, such as yourself, Scribe Ana, who also would deal justly by
us. Yet it may happen that through my niece Merapi, on whose head the
evil word has fallen, a great sorrow may come to both him and her.
Therefore, perhaps, although setting this against that, she may be wise
to stay in the house of Seti, he, on the balance, may be wise to turn
her from his doors."

"What sorrow?" I asked, who grew bewildered with his dark talk, but
there was no answer, for he had gone.

Near to my lodging another man met me, and the moonlight shining on his
face showed me the terrible eyes of Ki.

"Scribe Ana," he said, "you leave for Memphis to-morrow at the dawn, and
not two days hence as you purposed."

"How do you know that, Magician Ki?" I answered, for I had told my
change of plan to none, not even to Baken