hidden, and the evil spirit that tormented her was driven forth.

RHEOU [_credulously_] Is't possible?

MIERIS. Every one saw it. And Kitoui--

RHEOU. Well?

MIERIS. Kitoui, the cripple, went this morning to draw water from the
Nile, before all her neighbors who marvelled and cried with joy. And she
had merely touched the hem of his garment, even without his knowing it.
He has healed the child of Riti, too, he knows gods more powerful than
ours--younger gods, perhaps, our gods are so old--If it were not so, how
could he have walked unscathed the road where the scarabs lay, that day
when he came home? Since then, men have seen him do a thousand forbidden
things, have seen him defy our gods by disrespect. Without the
protection of a higher power, how could he escape the chastisement
whereof another had died? Who are his gods? Rheou, he must make them
known to you.

RHEOU. He refuses.

MIERIS. For what reason?

RHEOU. The reason he gives is absurd--he says there are no gods--

MIERIS. No gods! no gods!--he is mocking you.

RHEOU. He is bound to secrecy, perhaps.

MIERIS. Rheou, know you that this Ahmarsti--these two years now, on the
day of Prodigies, have I heard her at my side howling prayers at the
goddess that were never answered.

RHEOU. I know. Satni declares he could have healed all whom the goddess
has relieved.

MIERIS [_to herself_] He relieves even those women whom she
abandons--[_After a pause_] He must teach you the words that work these
miracles.

RHEOU. He refuses.

MIERIS. Force him!

RHEOU. He says there are none.

MIERIS. Threaten him with death--he will speak.

RHEOU. No.

MIERIS [_with excitement_] But you do not understand me!--he has healed
Ahmarsti, he has healed Kitoui, wherefore should he not heal me?

RHEOU [_sadly_] Ah! Mieris, Mieris, think you I waited for your prayer,
to ask him that?

MIERIS. Well--Well--?

RHEOU. I could gain nothing but these words from him: "Could I overcome
the evil Mieris suffers from, even now should she rejoice in the
splendor of day."

MIERIS. Nothing is impossible to the gods, even to ours; how much more
then to his!--He did not yield to your prayers!--Insist, order,
threaten! Force him to speak. You have the right to command him. He is
but the son of a potter after all. Let him be whipped till he yield. Do
anything, have him whipped to the point of death--or better, offer him
fields, the hill of date-trees that is ours; offer him our