“They tore away the veil—”
Upon the dark desert settled an expectant hush.
“Over Great Pharaoh, the Greater Sphinx smiled in a splendid mockery.
“‘Great Pharaoh,’ cried the sculptor, ‘I was sent here to mock thy little greatness, not to build it.’
“The Pharaoh raised his finger— The spears struck home— And over the dying sculptor, the mocking Sphinx smiled still.”
The glint as of a black pearl over the East told of the approach of day.
The artist clutched the boy’s arm.
“It speaks,” he said, in an awed whisper, “at last it speaks!”
The dawn trembled closer, and, in the utter distance, a bird’s faint notes were heard.
“You hear—”