Yet there were some who said that this memory was dearer than all else
that the world has to give.

"Twenty more seasons went by, and I sat upon the throne of my father,
and was Lord of the Double Crown. And, on a day, a messenger came
running and cried:

"'Now is Hathor come back to Khem, now is Hathor come back to Khem, and,
as of old, none may draw near her beauty!' Then I went to see, and lo!
before the Temple of Hathor a great multitude was gathered, and there
on the pylon brow stood the Hathor's self shining with changeful beauty
like the Dawn. And as of old she sang sweet songs, and, to each man who
heard, her voice was the voice of his own beloved, living and lost to
him, or dead and lost. Now every man has such a grave in his heart as
that whence Hathor seems to rise in changeful beauty. Month by month she
sings thus, one day in every month, and many a man has sought to win her
and her favour, but in the doorways are they who meet him and press him
back; and if he still struggles on, there comes a clang of swords and he
falls dead, but no wound is found on him. And, Wanderer, this is truth,
for I myself have striven and have been pressed back by that which
guards her. But I alone of men who have looked on her and heard her,
strove not a second time, and so saved myself alive."

"Thou alone of men lovest life more than the World's Desire!" said the
Queen. "Thou hast ever sickened for the love of this strange Witch, but
thy life thou lovest even better than her beauty, and thou dost not dare
attempt again the adventure of her embrace. Know, Eperitus, that this
sorrow is come upon the land, that all men love yonder witch and rave of
her, and to each she wears a different face and sings in another voice.
When she stands upon the pylon tower, then thou wilt see the madness