The female voices began it, singing very low, and conveying a strange
impression of time and distance. Now followed bursts of gladness
alternating with melancholy chords suggesting sighs and tears and
sorrows long endured, and at the end a joyous, triumphant paean thrown
to and fro between the men and women singers, terminating in one
united chorus repeated again and again, louder and yet louder, till it
culminated in a veritable crash of melody, then of a sudden ceased.
Ayesha rose and waved her sceptre, whereon all the company bowed thrice,
then turned and breaking into some sweet, low chant that sounded like a
lullaby, marched, rank after rank, across the width of the Sanctuary and
through the carven doors which closed behind the last of them.
When all had gone, leaving us alone, save for the priest Oros and the
priestess Papave, who remained in attendance on their mistress, Ayesha,
who sat gazing before her with dreaming, empty eyes, seemed to awake,
for she rose and said--"A noble chant, is it not, and an ancient? It was
the wedding song of the feast of Isis and Osiris at Behbit in Egypt, and
there I heard it before ever I saw the darksome Caves of Kor. Often have
I observed, my Holly, that music lingers longer than aught else in this
changeful world, though it is rare that the very words should remain
unvaried. Come, beloved--tell me, by what name shall I call thee? Thou
art Kallikrates and yet----"
"Call me Leo, Ayesha," he answered, "as I was christened in the only
life of which I have any knowledge.
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