yourself Olaf, for know that in
these haunted tombs ghosts and visions and mocking voices play strange
tricks. Why do you hide your face, you who call yourself Olaf?"

"Because the eyes are gone from it, Heliodore. Irene robbed it of the
eyes from jealousy of you, swearing that never more should they behold
your beauty. Perchance you would not wish to come too near to an eyeless
man wrapped in a beggar's robe."

She looked--I felt her look. She sobbed--I heard her sob, and then her
arms were about me and her lips were pressed upon my own.

So at length came joy such as I cannot tell; the joy of lost love found
again.

A while went by, how long I know not, and at last I said,

"Where is Martina? It is time we left this place."

"Martina!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean Irene's lady, and is she here? If
so, how comes she to be travelling with you, Olaf?"

"As the best friend man ever had, Heliodore; as one who clung to him
in his ruin and saved him from a cruel death; as one who has risked her
life to help him in his desperate search, and without whom that search
had failed."

"Then may God reward her, Olaf, for I did not know there were such women
in the world. Lady Martina! Where are you, lady Martina?"

Thrice she cried the words, and at the third time an answer came from
the shadows at a distance.

"I am here," said Martina's voice with a little yawn. "I was weary and
have slept while you two greeted each other. Well met at last, lady
Heliodore. See, I have brought you back your Olaf, blind it is true, but
otherwise lacking nothing of health and strength and station."

Then Heliodore ran to her and kissed first her hand and next her lips.
In after days she told me that for those of one who had been sleeping
the eyes of Martina seemed to be strangely wet and red. But if this were
so her voice trembled not at all.

"Truly you two should give thanks to God," she said, "Who has brought
you together again in so wondrous a fashion, as I do on your behalf from
the bottom of my heart. Yet you are still hemmed round by dangers many
and great. What now, Olaf? Will you become a ghost also and dwell here
in the tomb with Heliodore; and if so, what tale shall I tell to Palka
and the rest?"

"Not so," I answered. "I think it will be best that we should return to
Kurna. Heliodore must play her part as the spirit of a queen till we can
hire some boat and escape with her down the Nile."

"Never," she cried, "I canno