us figures,
heralding the light, were abandoning themselves to their God on the
desert sands, Mike had seen Margaret standing at her hut-door,
watching, as he himself so often watched, for the glory which was of
Aton to flood the desert with light. Meg's eyes the day before had
told Michael that she was unhappy; he knew now that she had not slept.

While the white figures were still bent earthwards and the little
streak of light was scarcely more than visible, Michael went to her and
asked her forgiveness.

"Forgive me," he said. "I need forgiveness."

Meg took his hand. "I hate not being friends. Thank you."

"It made me miserable," he said.

"Then let's forget. I was stupid. This is all too big and great for
such smallness." She indicated the coming of the unearthly light.

"Thy dawning, O Aton," Michael said.

Margaret smiled. "He was very far from us at Assuan."

"He was there. I stifled my consciousness of him, Meg."

"Don't," she said. "Let's go forward."

"I know what you mean," he said. "Regrets are weak, foolish."

"I don't want to bring the hotel at Assuan into this valley. Let's
just watch the sun transform its infinite mystery into our waking,
working, everyday world--if Egypt can be an everyday world."

"May I say Akhnaton's beautiful hymn to you? It is about the sunrise.
He must often have seen it just as we are seeing it now."

"Akhnaton's? Yes, do. How wonderful to think that he wrote hymns!"

Michael began the famous hymn. "'The world is in darkness, like the
dead. Every lion cometh forth from his den; all serpents sting.
Darkness reigns.'"

"We might substitute jackals," Margaret said gently.

"'When thou risest in the horizon . . . the darkness is banished. Then
in all the world they do their work.

"'All trees and plants flourish, the birds flutter in their marshes,
all sheep dance upon their feet.'"

"Oh," Margaret said delightedly, "how like it is to the hundred and
fourth Psalm! Do you remember how David said: 'The trees of the Lord
are full of sap. . . . Where the birds make their nests. . . . The
high hills are a refuge for the wild goats'? I think that's how it
goes. I love that Psalm."

"Yes," Michael said, "verse for verse, the idea is absolutely similar
and the similes are strikingly alike. The next verse is just as much
alike. Listen. . . . I am so glad you like it."

"First look," Margaret said, "at that light. Yes, now go on--I love
hear