On a housetop in Memphis, a gentlewoman, in a single gauze slip and
many jewels, lounged on a rug and gazed at nothing across the city. A
flat-shanked Ethiopian fanned her listlessly and dreamed also.
A little boy, innocent of raiment, stood before a new tomb, opposite
Tanis and awaited his father who labored within.
The water-carrier collapsed in his tracks; the lady shrieked; the
Ethiopian dropped the fan; the little boy fell on his face--all at the
same instant.
From the sea to the first cataract, from the deepest recess in the
Arabian hills to the remotest peak in the Libyan desert, Egypt was
blinded and muffled and smothered in a dead, black night--even darkness
that could be felt.
Kenkenes stood still. Harsh hands were no longer on him and for an
instant no sound was to be heard. Profound gloom enveloped him. His
every sense was frustrated.
Some one of his assailants had found his heart with a knife and this
was death, he thought.
Then strange, far-off murmurings filled his ears. From the river and
beside him went up wild, hoarse cries of men in mortal terror. Memphis
began to drone like a vast and troubled hive. The distant pastures
became blatant and the poultry near the huts of rustics cackled in wild
dismay.
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