For of those who thus entered the outer court and
looked upon the Hathor, few might go back alive.
Now the priests drew the cloths from their eyes, and rising, flung
wide the second gates, and there, but a little way off, the veil of the
shrine wavered as if in a wind. For now the doors beyond the veil were
thrown open, as might be seen when the wind swayed its Tyrian web, and
through the curtain came the sound of the same sweet singing.
"Draw near! Draw near!" cried the ancient priest. "Let him who would win
the Hathor draw near!"
Now at first the Wanderer was minded to rush on. But his desire had not
wholly overcome him, nor had his wisdom left him. He took counsel with
his heart and waited to let the others go, and to see how it fared with
them.
The worshippers were now hurrying back and now darting onwards, as fear
and longing seized them, till the man who was blind drew near, led by
the hand of a priest, for his hound might not enter the second court of
the temple.
"Do ye fear?" he cried. "Cowards, I fear not. It is better to look upon
the glory of the Hathor and die than to live and never see her more. Set
my face straight, ye priests, set my face straight, at the worst I can
but die."
So they led him as near the curtains as they dared to go and set his
face straight. Then with a great cry he rushed on.
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