"I trust the unhappy soul will not
trouble us. We came here by way of misadventure--not to disturb her.
But how came it they did not entomb her nearer On?"
"She betrayed one great man and tempted another. She offended against
the lofty. Therefore, her punishment was the more heavy--her isolation
in death like to banishment in life."
"So; if she had slighted a paraschite and tempted a beer brewer, her
fate would have been less harsh. O, the justness of justice!"
The morning was well advanced when they reached the niche on the
hillside--Hotep, wondering; Kenkenes, silent and expectant.
The sculptor led the way into the presence of Athor, and stepped aside.
The scribe halted and gazed without sound or movement--petrified with
amazement.
Before him, in hue and quiescence was a statue in stone--in all other
respects, a human being. The figure was of white magnesium limestone,
and stood upon rock yet unhewn.
The ritual had been trampled into the dust.
The eye of the most unlearned Egyptian could detect the sacrilege at a
single glance.
It was the image of a girl, draped in an overlong robe, fastened over
each shoulder by a fibula, ornamented with a round medallion. Through
the vestments, intentionally simple, there was testimony of the
exquisite lines of the figure they clothed.
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