es, and of
a strange father, though, if so, how came she here? I am told that she
reigns as Pharaoh in Egypt."

"Ask that question of your oracles, O King, but remember that rumour
does not always lie, and let the daughter of that strange father go."

"There is another who claims to be your father, Lady, if by now my
soldiers have not scourged him to his death--a tattered beggar-man."

"Whom those soldiers could not touch or find," broke in Asti, speaking
for the first time.

"Well," went on Janees, without heeding her, "whether your father be a
beggar or a god, or even if you are Hathor's self come down from heaven
to be the death of men, know that I take you for my own. For the third
time, answer, will you be my Queen of your own choice, or must my women
drown yonder witch in this water at your feet, and drag you hence?"

Now Tua made no answer. She only let fall her veil, folded her arms upon
her breast, and waited. But Asti, mocking him, cried in a loud voice,
that he might hear above the howling of the hurricane without:

"Call your women, King, for the air is full of sand that chokes my
throat, and I long for the water which you promise me."

Then, in his fury, Janees turned, and shouted:

"Come hither, Slaves, and do what I have commanded you."

As he spoke the door burst open, and through it, no longer clad in rags,
but wearing a white robe and head-dress, walked Kepher the Wanderer,
while after him, their red swords in their hands, came savage-looking
chiefs, bearded, blank-faced, round-eyed, with gold chains that clanked
upon their mail, captains of the Desert, men who knew neither fear nor
mercy.

Janees looked and understood. He snatched out his sword, and for a
moment stayed irresolute, while the great men ringed him round and
waited, their eyes fixed on Kepher's face.

"Spare him, Father, if it may be so," said Tua, "since love has made him
mad."

"Too late!" answered Kepher solemnly. "Those who will not accept the
warning of the gods must suffer the vengeance of the gods. Janees, you
who would do violence to a helpless woman, your palace burns, your
city is in my keeping, and the few who stood by you are slain. Janees,
to-morrow another shall rule in your place. Amen the Father has decreed
your doom."

"Aye," echoed Janees heavily, "too late! Mortals cannot fight against
the gods that make their sport of them. Some god commanded that I should
love. Some god commands that I shall die. So be