Through this rent a
pocketbook and some papers had slipped out. They were resting on a
little sand drift at the base of the rock that had caused the damage.
The pocketbook was open. Some of the sand had entered its compartments.
And, in one of them, were the papyrus leaves found in the tomb of
Demetriades, the Greek, whose mortal eyes were the last that had gazed
on the treasure of Sheba! In truth, here was one of the world's dramas,
with its scenes divided by two thousand years, yet the parched desert
was content to wait there placidly, in sure and certain knowledge that
the curtain would rise again on that grim play, whether the years were
few or many between the acts. How little changed was the stage. But
what of the actors? Did the modern troupe differ so greatly from the
two-thousand-year-old cast--the merchant in ivory and skins who quitted
his quiet business at Alexandria to seek adventure and gold, the Romans
who went to kill and plunder an inoffensive people, the Nubians who
waylaid them, and left their bones to bleach? Assuredly, looking at the
dozen or more dead bodies stretched in a row at his feet, Royson deemed
mankind as unchangeable as the desert.
Pages:
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446