, the face of Pharaoh grew black as the night, and ere
all the tale was done he sprang to his feet.

"By Amen and by Ptah!" he cried, "here at least we have a foe whom we
may conquer. Thou and I, Meriamun, my sister and my queen, are set as
far each from each as the sky is set from the temple top, and little
of love is there between us. Yet I will wipe away this blot upon thy
honour, which also is a blot upon my own. Sleepless shall this Wanderer
lie to-night, and sorry shall he go to-morrow, but to-morrow night he
shall sleep indeed."

Thereupon he clapped his hands, summoning the guard, and bade them pass
to the dungeon where the Wanderer lay, and lead him thence to the place
of punishment. He bade them also call the tormentors to make ready the
instruments of their craft, and await him in the place of punishment.

Then he sat for awhile, drinking sullenly, till one came to tell him
that all was prepared. Then Pharaoh rose.

"Comest thou with me?" he asked.

"Nay," said Meriamun, "I would not look upon the man again; and this I
charge thee. Go not down to him this night. Let him be found upon the
bed of torment, and let the tormentors give him food and wine, for so he
shall die more hardly. Then let them light the fires at his head and at
his feet and leave him till the dawn alone in the place of torment. So
he shall die a hundred deaths ere ever his death begins."

"As thou wilt," answered Pharaoh. "Mete out thine own punishment.
To-morrow when I have slept I will look upon his torment." And he spoke
to his servants as she desired.

The Wanderer lay on the bed of torment in the place of torment. They
had taken the gag from his mouth, and given him food and wine as Pharaoh
commanded. He ate and drank and his strength came back to him. Then they
made fast his fetters, lit the braziers at his head and foot, and left
him with mocking words.

He lay upon the bed of stone and groaned in the bitterness of his heart.
Here then was the end of his wanderings, and this was the breast of the
Golden Helen in whose arms Aphrodite had sworn that he should lie.
Oh, that he were free again and stood face to face with his foes, his
harness on his back! Nay, it might not be, no mortal strength could
burst these fetters, not even the strength of Odysseus, Laertes' son.
Where now were those Gods whom he had served? Should he never again hear
the clarion cry of Pallas? Why then had he turned him from Pallas and
worshipped at