And the dying man whispered, after a pause, while his head rolled from side to side upon his shoulders:
"The gates are closed for ever that cast out the evil-doer.… No one can enter Kamt, but thou, oh! Osiris, on thy crested eagle, or thou, Anubis, astride on thy winged jackal."
He had begun to wander again in the realms of merciful oblivion; his eyes gradually closed, while his lips continued to murmur:
"Take thou my soul, oh! Anubis.… Pardon.… Mercy…. The gates are guarded … I cannot return.… Oh, great and glorious land of Kamt … where eternal streams flow between marble dwellings and gardens of lotus and lilies … where at night Isis smiles down on the beautiful daughters of Kamt … dark-eyed and slim as the white gazelles of the fields … I shall not behold thy loveliness again … my soul flies from my body … already … I feel thy hand … oh! Anubis! guiding me to that mysterious land … where dwelleth Ra … and where thou sittest in judgment, oh, Osiris, the Most High.…"
Obviously it would have been inhuman to try and drag the flitting soul back to earth and suffering. I even thought that it was cruelty to try and prolong his life with brandy and restoratives. I shuddered as I looked round at the terrible wilderness, and as the conviction was forced upon me that these skeletons and debris of human creatures were the records of thousands of such lonely tragedies as we were now witnessing, since the great hordes of Egypt had found a home in the mysterious oasis of the desert.
For of this fact now there could be no doubt. The dying maniac had, with his last breath, blown away
