Kenkenes took the oars and moved out into the middle of the swiftest
current of the Nile. There he headed down-stream and permitted the
boat to drift.
The clear heavens, blue and pellucid as a sapphire, were still cool,
but from the lower slope down the east a radiance began to crawl
upward. The peaks of the Libyan desert grew wan.
The young men did not resume their talk. The dawn in Egypt was a
solemn hour. Kenkenes raised his eyes to the heights of the west. On
the shore a group approached the Nile edge, and Hotep guessed by the
cluster of fans and standards that it was the Pharaoh at his morning
devotions to Nilus. The white points on the hilltops reddened and
caught fire.
Softly and absently Kenkenes began to sing a hymn to the sunrise.
Hotep rested his cheek on one hand and listened. More solemn, more
appealing the notes grew, fuller and stronger, until the normal power
of the rich voice was reached. The liquid echo on the water gave it a
mellow embellishment, and Hotep saw the central figure of the group on
shore lift his hand for silence among the courtiers.
But Kenkenes sang on unconscious even of his nearest auditor. After
the nature of humanity he was nearer to his gods in trouble than in
tranquillity.
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