Now those pillars were not bright; they were low
and lurid; the rays from them scarcely reached us standing in the dense
shadow.
But if we could not be seen in them we still could see. Look! Yonder sat
Ayesha on a throne, and oh! she was awful in her death-like majesty.
The blue light of the sunken columns played upon her, and in it she
sat erect, with such a face and mien of pride as no human creature ever
wore. Power seemed to flow from her; yes, it flowed from those wide-set,
glittering eyes like light from jewels.
She seemed a Queen of Death receiving homage from the dead. More, she
_was_ receiving homage from dead or living--I know not which--for, as I
thought it, a shadowy Shape arose before the throne and bent the knee to
her, then another, and another, and another.
As each vague Being appeared and bowed its starry head she raised her
sceptre in answering salutation. We could hear the distant tinkle of the
sistrum bells, the only sound in all that place, yes, and see her
lips move, though no whisper reached us from them. Surely spirits were
worshipping her!
We gripped each other. We shrank back and found the door. It gave to
our push. Now we were in the passages again, and now we had reached our
room.
At its entrance Oros was standing as we had left him. He greeted us with
his fixed smile, taking no note of the terror written on our faces.
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