, O Kallikrates, I tell thee that she died not. Did not Ayesha swear
to thee yonder in the Caves of Kor that she would come again? for even
in that awful hour this comfort kissed her soul. Thereafter, Leo Vincey,
who art Killikrates, did not her spirit lead thee in thy sleep and stand
with thee upon this very pinnacle which should be thy beacon light to
guide thee back to her? And didst thou not search these many years, not
knowing that she companioned thy every step and strove to guard thee in
every danger, till at length in the permitted hour thou earnest back to
her?"

She paused, and looked towards Leo, as though awaiting his reply.

"Of the first part of the tale, except from the writing on the Sherd, I
know nothing, Lady," he said; "of the rest I, or rather we, know that it
is true. Yet I would ask a question, and I pray thee of thy charity let
thy answer be swift and short. Thou sayest that in the permitted hour
I came back to Ayesha. Where then is Ayesha? Art thou Ayesha? And if so
why is thy voice changed? Why art thou less in stature? Oh! in the name
of whatever god thou dost worship, tell me art thou Ayesha?"

"_I am Ayesha_" she answered solemnly, "that very Ayesha to whom thou
didst pledge thyself eternally."

"She lies, she lies," broke in Atene. "I tell thee, husband--for such
with her own lips she declares thou art to me--that yonder woman who
says that she parted from thee young and beautiful, less than twenty
years ago, is none other than the aged priestess who for a century at
least has borne rule in these halls of Hes. Let her deny it if she can."

"Oros," said the Mother, "tell thou the tale of the death of that
priestess of whom the Khania speaks."

The priest bowed, and in his usual calm voice, as though he were
narrating some event of every day, said mechanically, and in a fashion
that carried no conviction to my mind--"Eighteen years ago, on the
fourth night of the first month of the winter in the year 2333 of the
founding of the worship of Hes on this Mountain, the priestess of whom
the Khania Atene speaks, died of old age in my presence in the hundred
and eighth year of her rule. Three hours later we went to lift her from
the throne on which she died, to prepare her corpse for burial in this
fire, according to the ancient custom. Lo! a miracle, for she lived
again, the same, yet very changed.

"Thinking this a work of evil magic, the Priests and Priestesses of the
College rejected her,