t then the
sudden vanishing of a famous scientist from the midst of the brilliant
company on the balcony would have set all the newspapers in Europe
chattering, with consequences which would have been the reverse of
pleasant both to his daughter and himself.

However, he had not long to wait, for Nitocris soon rose, saying that
she must go to Jenny, her maid, to see about packing arrangements for
to-morrow; and the Prince, after another cigarette and liqueur, took his
leave and went on board the yacht to give orders for her to be put into
her best trim, and then to have a luxurious half-hour with the Horus
Stone, and indulge in fond imaginings as to how it would look hanging
from a chain of diamonds on the white breast of Miss Nitocris.

When the Professor went to his own sitting-room he found his daughter
waiting to say good-night.

"Niti," he said, as he closed the door, "I don't want to seem
inquisitive, but, frankly, I was astounded at the gracious way in which
you treated that scoundrel Oscarovitch."

"Dad," she replied, with apparent irrelevance, "do you believe in the
forgiveness of sins?"

"Of course not! How could any one who holds the Doctrine do that? We
know that every moral debit must be worked off and turned into a credit
by the sinner, however many lives of suffering it takes to do it. Why do
you ask?"

"So that you might answer as you have done!" she said, with a little
laugh. "Now this Oscarovitch has sinned grievously, not only in this
life but in many others, and I am going to see that he works off at
least some of his debit as you put it somewhat commercially. He loved me
in the old days in Memphis, and he loves me still in the same brutal,
animal way. I know that if he cannot get me by fair means he will try to
take me by force--and I am going to let him do it."

"Niti!"

"Yes, he shall take me; he shall think he had got me safe away from you
and Mark--and when he has got me he shall taste what the hot-and-strong
sort of Christian preachers call the torments of the damned. No, I shall
not kill him. He shall live till he prays to all his gods, if he has
any, that he may die. He shall hunger without eating, thirst without
drinking, lie down without sleeping, have wealth that he cannot spend,
and palaces so hideously haunted that he dare not live in them, until,
when men wish to illustrate the uttermost extreme of human misery, they
shall point to Prince Oscarovitch. I, the Queen, have said i