Menon strove to speak, but the Egyptian would not harken to his words. The Assyrian faced Sozana, stretching forth his hand, but Memetis sprang between them, drawing his dagger, and in a low, fierce whisper spoke his wrath:
"Lay but a finger on this maid, or speak her name again, and as Osiris liveth, will I take thy life!"
Menon looked into the lover's eyes, and slowly spread his arms.
"Strike!" he murmured sadly. "Strike, and learn from other lips than mine that Memetis is a fool."
He waited, but the Egyptian made no move, because of the sorrow on the face of one who had been a cherished friend.
"And dost thou dream," asked Menon, pointing to the girl who wept beside him, "that I would willingly bring sorrow to this child? Nay, listen, both, then judge me when ye know the truth."
The Egyptian's hand sank down beside him, and his blade was tossed upon the earth.
"Speak on," he begged, "but, oh, my friend, I pray thee show me no mirage of hope that melteth when a thirsty traveller would drink."
So Menon sat between them on the bench and told them of Semiramis. He told of the artifice by which he sought to gull the King, in a firm belief that Zariaspa would not fall; and yet, should chance prove otherwise, he would fly with his wife into Arabia, where Prince Boabdul offered them a safe retreat. He spoke of his life in Syria, of the wonder of his love for her whom he left behind; and as the tale went on Sozana dried her tears and held the teller's hand in both her own, for she and Memetis knew at last that Menon betrayed no trust in him, and their hearts were glad because of a hope restored.
"Forgive," Memetis pleaded as his friend arose; and Menon smiled, bent down and kissed Sozana as a brother might, then left them with a heavy heart to seek the King.
Ninus still reclined upon his couch--for his hurt was yet unhealed--and rested beneath the shade of a canopy on the palace roof, whiles he waited in impatience for Menon's coming till the hour was past. Now it is not good to linger when a wounded monarch waits, so Ninus fretted, combing at his beard as was his wont when matters troubled him or anger rose.
"How now," he asked, when Menon came at length with a hasty step, "am I the master, or do I sleep, to awaken presently and find myself a servant--_thou_ the King?"