the vastness of the unnumbered years, remember thou this:  the Love Divine is Love Eternal, which cannot be extinguished, though it be everlastingly estranged.  Repent, my son; repent and do well while there is yet time, that at the dim end of ages thou mayest once more be gathered unto Me.  Still, Harmachis, though thou seest Me not; still, when the very name by which thou knowest Me has become a meaningless mystery to those who shall be after thee; still I, whose hours are eternal—­I, who have watched Universes wither, wane, and, beneath the breath of Time, melt into nothingness; again to gather, and, re-born, thread the maze of space—­still, I say, I shall companion thee.  Wherever thou goest, in whatever form of life thou livest, there I shall be!  Art thou wafted to the farthest star, art thou buried in Amenti’s lowest deep—­in lives, in deaths, in sleeps, in wakings, in remembrances, in oblivions, in all the fevers of the outer Life, in all the changes of the Spirit—­still, if thou wilt but atone and forget Me no more, I shall be with thee, waiting thine hour of redemption.  For this is the nature of Love Divine, wherewith it loves that which partakes of its divinity and by the holy tie hath once been bound to it.  Judge then, Harmachis:  was it well to put this from thee to win the dust of earthly woman?  And, now, dare not again to utter the Word of Power till these things are done!  Harmachis, for this season, fare thee well!”

As the last note of the sweet Voice died away, the fiery snake climbed into the heart of the cloud.  Now the cloud rolled from the horns of light, and was gathered into the blackness.  The vision of the crescent moon grew dim and vanished.  Then, as the Goddess passed, once more came the faint and dreadful music of the shaken sistra, and all was still.

I hid my face in my robe, and even then, though my outstretched hand could touch the chill corpse of that father who had died cursing me, I felt hope come back into my heart, knowing that I was not altogether lost nor utterly rejected of Her whom I had forsaken, but whom I yet loved.  And then weariness overpowered me, and I slept.

I woke, the faint lights of dawn were creeping from the opening in the roof.  Ghastly they lay upon the shadowy sculptured walls and ghastly upon the dead face and white beard of my father, the gathered to Osiris.  I started up, remembering all things, and wondering in my heart what I should do, and as I rose I heard a faint footfall creeping down the passage of the names of the Pharaohs.

“La!  La!  La!” mumbled a voice that I knew for the voice of the old wife, Atoua.  “Why, ’tis dark as the House of the Dead!  The Holy Ones who built this Temple loved not the blessed sun, however much they worshipped him.  Now, where’s the curtain?”

Presently it was drawn, and Atoua entered, a stick in one hand and a basket in the other.  Her face was somewhat more wrinkled, and her scanty locks were somewhat whiter than aforetime, but for the rest she was as she had ever been.  She stood and peered around with her sharp black eyes, for as yet she could see nothing because of the shadows.