"But when will the Lady Hathor sing upon her tower top?" said Rei, "for
the Stranger desires to see her and hear her."

The temple priest bowed before the Wanderer, and answered gravely:

"On the third morn from now the Holy Hathor shows herself upon the
temple's top," he said; "but thou, mighty lord, who art risen from the
sea, hearken to my warning, and if, indeed, thou art no god, dare not to
look upon her beauty. If thou dost look, then thy fate shall be as the
fate of those who have looked before, and have loved and have died for
the sake of the Hathor."

"No god am I," said the Wanderer, laughing, "yet, perchance, I shall
dare to look, and dare to face whatever it be that guards her, if my
heart bids me see her nearer."

"Then there shall be an end of thee and thy wanderings," said the
priest. "Now follow me, and I will show thee those men who last sought
to win the Hathor."

He took him by the hand and led him through passages hewn in the walls
till they came to a deep and gloomy cell, where the golden armour of the
Wanderer shone like a lamp at eve. The cell was built against the city
wall, and scarcely a thread of light came into the chink between roof
and wall. All about the chamber were baths fashioned of bronze, and in
the baths lay dusky shapes of dark-skinned men of Egypt. There they lay,
and in the faint light their limbs were being anointed by some sad-faced
attendants, as folk were anointed by merry girls in the shining baths
of the Wanderer's home. When Rei and Eperitus came near, the sad-faced
bath-men shrank away in shame, as dogs shrink from their evil meat at
night when a traveller goes past.

Marvelling at the strange sight, the bathers and the bathed, the
Wanderer looked more closely, and his stout heart sank within him. For
all these were dead who lay in the baths of bronze, and it was not water
that flowed about their limbs, but evil-smelling natron.

"Here lie those," said the priest, "who last strove to come near the
Holy Hathor, and to pass into the shrine of the temple where night and
day she sits and sings and weaves with her golden shuttle. Here they
lie, the half of a score. One by one they rushed to embrace her, and one
by one they were smitten down. Here they are being attired for the tomb,
for we give them all rich burial."

"Truly," quoth the Wanderer, "I left the world of Light behind me when I
looked on the blood-red sea and sailed into the black gloom off Pharos.
More evi