"Here," he said, thrusting the parchment into her hand, "read quickly,
and return it to me."
She snatched the roll from him, and as her eyes devoured the lines, her
face fell in, and her lips grew pale with anguish.
"Be brave," murmured Metem, for his heart was stirred to pity; "it is
best for all that he should go."
"For him, perchance it is best," she answered; as with an unwilling hand
she gave him back the letter which she dared not keep, "but what of me?
Oh! Metem, what of me?"
"Lady," he said sadly, "I have no words to soothe your sorrow save that
the gods have willed it thus."
"What gods?" she asked fiercely; "not those they bid me worship." She
shuddered, then went on, "Metem, be pitiful! Oh! if ever you have loved
a woman, or have been loved of one, for her sake be pitiful. I must see
him for the last time in farewell, and you can help me to it."
"I! In the name of Baal, how?"
"When do you have to leave the city, Metem?"
"At moonrise on the night after next."
"Then an hour before moonrise I will be in the temple, whither I can
come by the secret way that leads thither from this palace, and he can
enter there, for the little gate shall be left unbarred. Pray him to
meet me, then--for the last time."
"Lady," he urged, "this is but madness, and I refuse. You must find
another messenger."
"Madness or not it is my will, and beware how you thwart me in it,
Metem, for at least I am the Lady Baaltis, and have power to kill
without question.
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