We walked for a little way in silence.  Then I spoke.

“Amada, there are more things than thrones in the world.”

“Yes, Cousin, there is that in which all thrones end—­death, which it seems we court.”

“And, Amada, there is that in which all thrones begin—­love, which I court from you.”

“I have known it long,” she said, considering me gravely, “and been grateful to you who are more to me than any man has been or ever will be.  But, Shabaka, I am a priestess bound to set the holy One I serve above a mortal.”

“That holy One was wed and bore a child, Amada, who avenged his father, as I trust that we shall avenge Egypt.  Therefore she looks with a kind eye upon wives and mothers.  Also you have not taken your final vows and can be absolved.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Then, Amada, will you give yourself into my keeping?”

“I think so, Shabaka, though it has been in my mind for long, as you know well, to give myself only to learning and the service of the heavenly Lady.  My heart calls me to you, it is true, day and night it calls, how loudly I will not tell; yet I would not yield myself to that alone.  But Egypt calls me also, since I have been shown in a dream while I watched in the sanctuary, that you are the only man who can free her, and I think that this dream came from on high.  Therefore I will give myself, but not yet.”

“Not yet,” I said dismayed.  “When?”

“When I have been absolved from my vows, which must be done on the night of the next new moon, which is twenty-seven days from this.  Then, if nothing comes between us during those twenty-seven days, it shall be announced that the Royal Lady of Egypt is to wed the noble Shabaka.”

“Twenty-seven days!  In such times much may happen in them, Amada.  Still, except death, what can come between us?”

“I know of nothing, Shabaka, whose past is shadowless as the noon.”

“Or I either,” I replied.

Now we were standing in the clear sunlight, but as I said the words a wind stirred the palm-trees and the shadow from one of them fell full upon me, and she who was very quick, noted it.

“Some might take that for an omen,” she said with a little laugh, pointing to the line of the shadow.  “Oh!  Shabaka, if you have aught to confess, say it now and I will forgive it.  But do not leave me to discover it afterwards when I may not forgive.  Perchance during your journeyings in the East——­”

“Nothing, nothing,” I exclaimed joyfully, who during all that time had scarcely spoken to a youthful woman.

“I am glad that nothing happened in the East that could separate us, Shabaka, though in truth my thought was not your own, for there are more things than women in the world.  Only it seems strange to me that you should return to Egypt laden with such priceless gifts from him who is Egypt’s greatest enemy.”

“Have I not told you that I put my country before myself?  Those gifts were won fairly in a wager, Amada, whereof you heard the story but last night.  Moreover you know the purpose to which they are to be put,” I replied indignantly.