"There she sat," he went on; "there you stood; there lay the boy and there crouched his nurse--by the way, I grieve to hear that she is ill.

You are caring for her, are you not, Ana?
Say to her that Pharaoh will come to visit her--when he may, when he may." "I remember it all, Pharaoh." "Yes, of course you would remember, because you loved her, did you not, and the boy too, and even me, the father.

And so you will love us always when we reach a land where sex with its walls and fires are forgotten, and love alone survives--as we shall love you." "Yes," I answered, "since love is the key of life, and those alone are accursed who have never learned to love." "Why accursed, Ana, seeing that, if life continues, they still may learn ?" He paused a while, then went on: "I am glad that he died, Ana, although had he lived, as the Queen will have no children, he might have become Pharaoh after me.

But what is it to be Pharaoh?
For six years now I have reigned, and I think that I am beloved; reigned over a broken land which I have striven to bind together, reigned over a sick land which I have striven to heal, reigned over a desolated land which I have striven to make forget.

Oh! the curse of those Hebrews worked well.