Egypt -- History -- 30 B.C.-640 A.D. -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
Agonizing doubts of everything that she had hitherto deemed sacred and
inviolable fell upon her soul; doubts of everything in heaven and earth,
and not merely of Christ and of his godlike, or divine goodness--for
what difference was there to her apprehension in the meaning of the
two words which set man to hunt and persecute man? In the distress and
hopeless dilemma in which she found herself, she shed no tears; she
simply stood rooted to the spot where she had heard the Bishop’s
verdict.
Presently her attention was roused by the shrill voice of an old writer
who called out to one of the younger assistants.
“That girl disturbs me, Petubastis; show her out.” Petubastis, a pretty
Egyptian lad, was more than glad of an interruption to his work which
somehow seemed endless to-day; he put aside his implements, stroked back
the black hair that had fallen over his face, and removing the reed-pen
from behind his ear, stuck in a sprig of dark blue larkspur. Then
he tripped to the door, opened it, looked at the girl with the cool
impudence of a connoisseur in beauty, bowed slightly, and pointing the
way out said with airified politeness:
“Allow me!”
Agne at once obeyed and with a drooping head left the room; but the
young Egyptian stole out after her, and as soon as the door was shut he
seized her hand and said in a whisper: “If you can wait half an hour at
the bottom of the stairs, pretty one, I will take you somewhere where
you will enjoy yourself.”
She had stopped to listen, and looked enquiringly into his face, for she
had no suspicion of his meaning; the young fellow, encouraged by this,
laid his hand on her shoulder and would have drawn her towards him but
that she, thrusting him from her as if he were some horrible animal,
flew down the steps as fast as her feet could carry her, and through the
courtyard back into the great entrance-hall.
Here all was, by this time, dark and still; only a few lamps lighted
the pillared space and the flare of a torch fell upon the benches
placed there for the accommodation of priests, laymen and supplicants
generally.
Utterly worn out--whether by terror or disappointment or by hunger and
fatigue she scarcely knew--she sank on a seat and buried her face in her
hands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account