Khufu might have been as easily melted by the twinkle of a rain drop.
Never in his life had he faced such comprehensive contemplation. Calm,
monumental and icy disdain deepened on every feature.
Kenkenes stood motionless and suffered her to look at him. Being a man
of fine soul, the eloquent gaze spoke well-deserved rebuke. He knew
that his color had risen, and his eyes fell in spite of heroic efforts
to keep them steady. His sensations were unique; never had he
experienced the like. When he recovered himself her blue eyes were
fixed absently on the distant quarries.
Every impulse urged him to set himself right in the eyes of this most
discerning slave.
"Wilt thou forgive me?" he asked earnestly. "I would I could make thee
know I crave thy good will."
There was no mistaking the honesty in these words.
Her face relaxed instantly.
"But I fear I have not set about it wisely," he added. "Let me give
thee a peace-offering to prove my contrition."
He slipped from about his neck the collar of golden rings and moved
forward to put it about her throat.
She drew back, her face flushing hotly under an expression of positive
pain.
Kenkenes dropped his hands to his sides with a limpness highly
suggestive of desperate perplexity.
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