Here Charmion laid her hand on mine and pressed it, as though in tenderness.
“Well, he shall trouble us no more with his words of evil omen,” Cleopatra went on slowly; “tomorrow morn he dies—dies swiftly and in secret, leaving no trace of what his fate has been. On this is my mind fixed; of a truth, noble Antony, it is fixed. Even as I speak the fear of this man grows and gathers in my breast. Half am I minded to give the word even now, for I breathe not freely till he be dead,” and she made as though to rise.
“Let it be till morning,” he said, catching her by the hand; “the soldiers drink, and the deed will be ill done. ’Tis pity too. I love not to think of men slaughtered in their sleep.”
“In the morning, perchance, the hawk may have flown,” she answered, pondering. “He hath keen ears, this Harmachis, and can summon things to aid him that are not of the earth. Perchance, even now he hears me in the spirit; for, of a truth, I seem to feel his presence breathing round me. I could tell thee—but no, let him be! Noble Antony, be my tiring-woman and loose me this crown of gold, it chafes my brow. Be gentle, hurt me not—so.”
He lifted the uraeus crown from her brows, and she shook loose her heavy weight of hair that fell about her like a garment.
“Take back thy crown, royal Egypt,” he said, speaking low, “take it from my hand; I will not rob thee of it, but rather set it more firmly on that beauteous brow.”
“What means my Lord?” she asked, smiling and looking into his eyes.
“What mean I? Why then, this: thou camest hither at my bidding to make answer of the charges laid against thee as to matters politic. And knowest thou, Egypt, that hadst thou been other than thou art thou hadst not gone back to queen it on the Nile; for of this I am sure, the charges against thee are true in fact. But, being what thou art—and look thou! never did Nature serve a woman better!—I forgive thee all. For the sake of thy grace and beauty I forgive thee that which had not been forgiven to virtue, or to patriotism, or to the dignity of age! See now how good a thing is woman’s wit and loveliness, that can make kings forget their duty and cozen even blindfolded Justice to peep ere she lifts her sword! Take back thy crown, O Egypt! It is now my care that, though it be heavy, it shall not chafe thee.”
“These are royal words, most noble Antony,” she made answer; “gracious and generous words, such as befit the Conqueror of the world! And touching my misdeeds in the past—if misdeeds there have been—I say this, and this alone—then I knew not Antony. For, knowing Antony, who could sin against him? What woman could lift a sword against one who must be to all women as a God—one who, seen and known, draws after him the whole allegiance of the heart, as the sun draws flowers? And what more can I say and not cross the bounds of woman’s modesty? Why, only this—set that crown upon my brow, great Antony, and I will take it as a gift from thee, by the giving made doubly dear, and to thy uses I will guard it.
“There, now I am thy vassal Queen, and through me all old Egypt that I rule does homage to Antony the Triumvir, who shall be Antony the Emperor of Rome and Khem’s Imperial Lord!”
And, having set the crown upon her locks, he stood gazing on her, grown passionate in the warm breath of her living beauty, till at length he caught her by both hands and drawing her to him kissed her thrice, saying:
“Cleopatra, I love thee, Sweet—I love thee as I never loved before.” She drew back from his embrace, smiling softly; and as she did so the golden circlet of the sacred snakes fell, being but loosely set upon her brow, and rolled away into the darkness beyond the ring of light.
I saw the omen, and even in the bitter anguish of my heart knew its evil import. But these twain took no note.
“Thou lovest me?” she said, most sweetly; “how know I that thou lovest me? Perchance it is Fulvia whom thou lovest—Fulvia, thy wedded wife?”
“Nay, it is not Fulvia, ’tis thou, Cleopatra, and thou alone. Many women have looked favourably upon me from my boyhood up, but to never a one have I known such desire as to thee, O thou Wonder of the World, like unto whom no woman ever was! Canst thou love me, Cleopatra, and to me be true, not for my place or power, not for that which I can give or can withhold, not for the stern music of my legion’s tramp, or for the light that flows from my bright Star of Fortune; but for myself, for the sake of Antony, the rough captain, grown old in camps? Ay, for the sake of Antony the reveller, the frail, the unfixed of purpose, but who yet never did desert a friend, or rob a poor man, or take an enemy unawares? Say, canst thou love me, Egypt? Oh! if thou wilt, why, I am more happy than though I sat tonight in the Capitol at Rome crowned absolute Monarch of the World!”
And, ever as he spoke, she gazed on him with wonderful eyes, and in them shone a light of truth and honesty such as was strange to me.
“Thou speakest plainly,” she said, “and thy words are sweet to mine ears—they would be sweet, even were things
