"

"Nay," he answered with a start as that word fell upon his ears. "Here
and now I say it once and for all. I am but a man who know nothing of
strange gods, their attributes and ceremonials. None shall bow the knee
to me and on earth, Ayesha, I bow mine to thee alone."

Now at this bold speech some of those who heard it looked astonished and
whispered to each other, while a voice called--"Beware, thou Chosen, of
the anger of the Mother!"

Again for a moment Ayesha looked afraid, then with a little laugh, swept
the thing aside, saying--"Surely with that I should be content. For me,
O Love, thy adoration for thee the betrothal song, no more."

So having no choice Leo mounted the throne, where notwithstanding his
splendid presence, enhanced as it was by those glittering robes, he
looked ill enough at ease, as indeed must any man of his faith and
race. Happily however, if some act of semi-idolatrous homage had been
proposed, Ayesha found a means to prevent its celebration, and soon all
such matters were forgotten both by the singers who sang, and us who
listened to the majestic chant that followed.

Of its words unfortunately we were able to understand but little, both
because of the volume of sound and of the secret, priestly language in
which it was given, though its general purport could not be mistaken.

The female voices began it, singing very low, and conveying a strange
impression of time and distance. Now followed bursts of gladness
alternating with melancholy chords suggesting sighs and tears and
sorrows long endured, and at the end a joyous, triumphant paean thrown
to and fro between the men and women singers, terminating in one
united chorus repeated again and again, louder and yet louder, till it
culminated in a veritable crash of melody, then of a sudden ceased.

Ayesha rose and waved her sceptre, whereon all the company bowed thrice,
then turned and breaking into some sweet, low chant that sounded like a
lullaby, marched, rank after rank, across the width of the Sanctuary and
through the carven doors which closed behind the last of them.

When all had gone, leaving us alone, save for the priest Oros and the
priestess Papave, who remained in attendance on their mistress, Ayesha,
who sat gazing before her with dreaming, empty eyes, seemed to awake,
for she rose and said--"A noble chant, is it not, and an ancient? It was
the wedding song of the feast of Isis and Osiris at Behbit in Egypt, and
there I hea