But in this chilly hour that precedes the dawn, the
hour when, as they say, men are wont to die, it was otherwise with her.
Her end was near--she knew it and understood that between the mightiest
monarch in the world and the humblest peasant maid at the last there is
no difference, save perchance a difference of the soul within.
Here she lay, a shadow, who must choose between a miserable end by
thirst and hunger, or a loathsome marriage. And what availed it that she
was called Morning-Star of Amen, she the only child of Pharaoh and of
his royal wife, and that when she was dead they would grant her a state
funeral, and inscribe her name among the lists of kings, while Abi, the
foul usurper, sat upon her throne. Here on the bed lay what she was,
there at the foot of it stood what she should be if the gods had not
deserted her.
Her poor heart was filled with bitterness like a cup with vinegar,
bitterness flowed through her in the place of blood. It seemed hard
to die so young, she whom men named a god; to die robbed of her crown,
robbed of her vengeance, and taking with her her deep, unfruitful love.
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