She was now within ten miles of Tanis, fourteen days after her departure
from Memphis.
Four solemn Ethiopians bore her litter upon their shoulders, and another
waved a fan of black ostrich plumes over her. The litter was of
glittering ebony, hung with purple, tasseled with gold. At her right,
was Unas; at her left, Nari. Behind her were dusky attendants and sooty
sumpter-mules.
Her robes were white, and very fine, but there was no henna on her nails,
nor kohl beneath her lids, nor jewels in her hair. So she would prove
that, though she was a coming queen, she was not glad of it. Hers was
not the spirit that hides its trouble and enamels the exterior with false
flushes and smiles. She enveloped herself in her feelings. She
tinctured her voice with them; she made her eyes languid with them; and
the touch of her hand, the curve of her lips and the droop of her head
were eloquent of them.
By this time, she had despaired. There was yet an opportunity to spend
another day covering the remaining ten miles, but she would loiter no
longer. She was tired, of a truth.
It was near sunset when a company of royal guards, under Menes, rode up
from the north.
The captain flung himself from his horse and hurried to Masanath's litter.
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