By the Gods Beloved by Baroness Emmuska Orczy

When I look back, dispassionately now, upon the awful moment when Hugh Tankerville so suddenly thrust himself into the political turmoil of this strange land, I quite see that he then seized, with characteristic presence of mind and boldness, the only opportunity there was of saving both our lives. Knowing the priests of Ra as I did subsequently, with their almost maniacal hatred and terror of the unknown, their dread of the stranger, whose existence, after five thousand years of isolation, the most learned amongst them only dimly guessed, I feel convinced that, had Hugh then not assumed the daring _rôle_, which he kept up afterwards with such marvellous histrionic powers, our lives would, at that moment, not have been worth two minutes' purchase. But at the time I was literally staggered by the sublime insolence of his proceeding. To have hoodwinked a dying maniac in the wilderness was one thing, but to think of leading an entire population -- of the size of which we had not the faintest conception -- by the nose, including the somewhat aggressive feminine ruler thereof and a host of priests, was quite another matter.

Breathlessly I waited when Hugh had formulated his modest request. The high priest, with one trembling hand still holding back the gossamer veil, was staring at the intruder with great, wondering eyes, while in the Queen's face a look of superstitious dread and one of slowly-awakening hope struggled for mastery. The Pharaoh's thin sallow face was inscrutable as a waxen image. He, too, stared at Hugh for a moment, then presently he yawned audibly, as if the advent of any celestial emissary was a matter of complete indifference to him, and turned to the more congenial companionship of his bald-faced chattering apes.