shape of this priestess that stirred me. When we came nearer I saw
why, for it was Amada herself. Through the thin veil she wore I could
see her dark and tender eyes set beneath the broad brow that was so
full of thought, and the sweet, curved mouth that was like no other
woman's. Moreover there could be no doubt since the veil parting above
her breast showed the birth-mark for which she was famous, the mark of
the young moon, the sign of Isis.

I sprang from my horse and ran towards her. She looked up and saw me.
At first she frowned, then her face grew wondering, then tender, and I
thought that her red lips shaped my name. Moreover in her confusion
she let the /sistrum/ fall.

I muttered "Amada!" and stepped forward, but priests ran between us
and thrust me away. Next moment she had recovered the /sistrum/ and
passed on with her head bowed. Nor did she lift her eyes to look back.

"Begone, man!" cried a priest, "Begone, whoever you may be. Because
you wear Eastern armour do you think that you can dare the curse of
Isis?"

Then I fell back, the holy image of the goddess passed and the
procession vanished through the pylon gate. I, Shabaka the Egyptian,
stood by my horse and watched it depart. I was happy because the lady
Amada was alive, well, and more beautiful than ever; also because she
had shown signs of joy and confusion at seeing me again. Yet I was
unhappy because I met her still filling a holy office which built a
wall between us, also because it seemed to me an evil omen that I
should have been repelled from her by a priest of Isis who talked of
the curse of the goddess. Moreover the sacred statue, I suppose by