that, driven to it by her questions and to stop that
sort of thing, I told her that I was looking for my wife, whom I
had lost, for, after all, Ayesha is my wife, Horace. She smiled and
suggested that I need _not_ look far; in short, that the lost wife was
already found--in herself, who had come to save me from death in the
river. Indeed, she spoke with such conviction that I grew sure that she
was not merely amusing herself, and felt very much inclined to believe
her, for, after all, Ayesha may be changed now.

"Then while I was at my wits' end I remembered the lock of hair--all
that remains to us of _her_," and Leo touched his breast. "I drew it
out and compared it with the Khania's, and at the sight of it she became
quite different, jealous, I suppose, for it is longer than hers, and not
in the least like.

"Horace, I tell you that the touch of that lock of hair--for she did
touch it--appeared to act upon her nature like nitric acid upon sham
gold. It turned it black; all the bad in her came out. In her anger her
voice sounded coarse; yes, she grew almost vulgar, and, as you know,
when Ayesha was in a rage she might be wicked as we understand it, and
was certainly terrible, but she was never either coarse or vulgar, any
more than lightning is.

"Well, from that moment I was sure that whoever this Khania may be, she
had nothing to do with Ayesha; they are so different that they never
could have been the same--like the hair. So I lay quiet and let her
talk, and coax, and threaten on, until at length she drew herself up and
marched from the room, and I heard her lock the door behind her. That's
all I have to tell you, and quite enough too, for I don't think that the
Khania has done with me, and, to say the truth, I am afraid of her."

"Yes," I said, "quite enough. Now sit still, and don't start or talk
loud, for that steersman is probably a spy, and I can feel old Simbri's
eyes fixed upon our backs. Don't interrupt either, for our time alone
may be short."

Then I set to work and told him everything I knew, while he listened in
blank astonishment.

"Great Heavens! what a tale," he exclaimed as I finished. "Now, who is
this Hesea who sent the letter from the Mountain? And who, who is the
Khania?"

"Who does your instinct tell you that she is, Leo?"

"Amenartas?" he whispered doubtfully. "The woman who wrote the _Sherd_,
whom Ayesha said was the Egyptian princess--my wife two thousand years
ago? Amenartas re-bo