The Persian women had been taught from childhood, to look upon these religious songs as higher and holier than any other poetry.

Their earliest prayers had been accompanied by such hymns, and, like everything else which has come down to us from our fathers, and which we have been told in the impressionable time of childhood is divine and worthy of our reverence, they were still sacred and dear to them and stirred their most devotional feelings.
But for Nitetis, who had been spoilt for such things by an intimate acquaintance with the best Greek poets, they could have but little charm.

What she had lately been learning in Persia with difficulty had not yet become a part of herself, and so, while Kassandane and Atossa went through all the outward rites as things of course and perfectly natural to them, Nitetis could only prevent herself from forgetting the prescribed ceremonials by a great mental effort, and dreaded lest she should expose her ignorance to the jealous, watchful gaze of her rivals.
And then, too, only a few minutes before the sacrifice, she had received her first letter from Egypt.

It lay unread on her dressing-table, and came into her mind whenever she attempted to pray.

She could not help wondering what news it might bring her.