would sit gazing dreamily into vacancy.  Nitetis seemed to have sunk into
a deep sleep after an attack of convulsions.  At the foot of her bed
stood six Persian doctors, murmuring incantations under the orders of
Nebenchari, whose superior science they acknowledged, and who was seated
at the bed's head. 

Every time he felt the sick girl's pulse he shrugged his shoulders, and
the gesture was immediately imitated by his Persian colleagues.  From
time to time the curtain was lifted and a lovely head appeared, whose
questioning blue eyes fixed at once on the physician, but were always
dismissed with the same melancholy shrug.  It was Atossa.  Twice she had
ventured into the room, stepping so lightly as hardly to touch the thick
carpet of Milesian wool, had stolen to her friend's bedside and lightly
kissed her forehead, on which the pearly dew of death was standing, but
each time a severe and reproving glance from Nebenchari had sent her back
again into the next room, where her mother Kassandane was lying, awaiting
the end.  

Cambyses had left the sick-room at sunrise, on seeing that Nitetis had
fallen asleep; he flung himself on to his horse, and accompanied by