e more!"

"Leave thee I will not, and cannot if I would," he said. "Lady, I
swear!" And he laid his hand upon the Snake that ringed her round, and
swore the dreadful oath. Yea, he forgot the words of the Goddess, and
the words of Helen, and he swore by the Snake who should have sworn by
the Star. By the immortal Gods he swore it, by the Symbol of the Snake,
and by the Beauty of his Bride. And as he swore the eyes of the Serpent
sparkled, and the eyes of her who wore the beauty of Helen shone, and
faintly the black bow of Eurytus thrilled, forboding Death and War.

But little the Wanderer thought on guile or War or Death, for the kiss
of her whom he deemed the Golden Helen was on his lips, and he went up
into the golden bed of Meriamun.

XI

THE WAKING OF THE WANDERER

Now Rei the Priest, as had been appointed, went to the pylon gate of the
Temple of Hathor. Awhile he stood looking for the Wanderer, but though
the hour had come, the Wanderer came not. Then the Priest went to the
pylon and stood in the shadow of the gate. As he stood there a wicket
in the gate opened, and there passed out a veiled figure of a woman upon
whose breast burned a red jewel that shone in the night like a star.
The woman waited awhile, looking down the moonlit road between the black
rows of sphinxes, but the road lay white and empty, and she turned and
hid herself in the shadow of the pylon, where Rei could see nothing of
her except the red star that gleamed upon her breast.

Now a great fear came upon the old man, for he knew that he looked upon
the strange and deadly Hathor. Perchance he too would perish like the
rest who had looked on her to their ruin. He thought of flight, but he
did not dare to fly. Then he too stared down the road seeking for the
Wanderer, but no shadow crossed the moonlight. Thus things went for
awhile, and still the Hathor stood silently in the shadow, and still the
blood-red star shone upon her breast. And so it came to pass that the
World's Desire must wait at the tryst like some forsaken village maid.

While Rei the Priest crouched thus against the pylon wall, praying for
the coming of him who came not, suddenly a voice spoke to him in tones
sweeter than a lute.

"Who art thou that hidest in the shadow?" said the voice.

He knew that it was the Hathor who spoke, and so afraid was he that he
could not answer.

Then the voice spoke again:

"Oh, thou most crafty of men, why doth it please thee to come h