The
expression had need of only a little emphasis in either direction to
become benign or terrible. Kenkenes caught a single glance of the eyes
under the gray shelter of the heavy brows. Once, the young man had
seen hanging from Meneptah's neck the rarest jewel in the royal
treasure. The wise men had called it an opal. It shot lights as
beautiful and awful as the intensest flame. And something in the eyes
of this mighty man brought back to Kenkenes the memory of the fires of
that wondrous gem.
The stranger stood in profound meditation, his splendid head gradually
sinking until it rested on his breast. The arms hung by the sides.
The attitude suggested a sorrow healed by the long years until it was
no more a pain, but a memory so subduing that it depressed. At last
the great man sank to his knees, with a movement quite in keeping with
his grandeur and his mood, and bowed his head on his arms.
Pressed down with awe, Kenkenes followed his example, and although he
seemed to kneel on some rough chisel mark in the floor, he did not
shift his position. The discomfort seemed appropriate as penitence on
that holy occasion.
After a long time the stranger arose, took up the torch and quitted the
chamber.
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