as forgotten, even
the Pharaoh leaned back in his golden chair to listen. Softly she struck
at first, then by slow degrees ever louder till the music of the harp
rang through the pillared hall. Now, at length, she lifted up her
heavenly voice and began to sing in a strain so wild and sweet that it
seemed to pierce to the watching stars.

It was a sad and ancient love-tale that she sang, which told how a
priestess of Hathor of high degree loved and was beloved by a simple
scribe whom she might not wed. It told how the scribe, maddened by his
passion, crept at night into the very sanctuary of the temple hoping to
find her there, and for his sacrilege was slain by the angry goddess.
It told how the beautiful priestess, coming alone to make prayer in the
sanctuary for strength to resist her love, stumbled over the lover's
corpse and, knowing it, died of grief. It told how Hathor, goddess
of love, melted by the piteous sight, breathed back life into their
nostrils, and since they might not remain upon earth, wafted them to the
Under-world, where they awoke and embraced and dwell on for ever and for
aye, triumphant and rejoicing.

All had heard this old, old story, but none had ever heard it so
divinely sung. As Tua's pure and lovely voice floated over them the
listeners seemed to see that lover, daring all in his desire, creep into
the solemn sanctuary of the temple. They saw Hathor appear in her wrath
and smite him cold in death. They saw the beauteous priestess with her
lamp, and heard her wail her life away upon her darling's corpse; saw,
too, the dead borne by spirits over the borders of the world.

Then came that last burst of music thrilling and divine, and its rich,
passionate notes seemed to open the heavens to their sight. There in the
deep sky they perceived the awakening of the lovers and their embrace
of perfect joy, and when a glory hid them, heard the victorious chant of
the priestess of love sighing itself away, faint and ever fainter, till
at length its last distant echoes died in the utter silence of the place
of souls.

Tua ceased her music. Resting her still quivering harp upon the board,
she sank back in her chair of state, outworn, trembling, while in her
pale face the blue eyes shone like stars. There was stillness in
the hall; the spell of that magical voice lay on the listeners; none
applauded, it seemed even that none dared to move, for men remembered
that this wonderful young Queen was said to b