Die Schwestern. English

  CHAPTER XXI.

  The man whom Klea had seen was in fact none other than Publius. He wasnow at the end of a busy day, for after he had assured himself thatIrene had been received by the sculptor and his wife, and welcomed as ifshe were their own child, he had returned to his tent to write once morea dispatch to Rome. But this he could not accomplish, for his friendLysias paced restlessly up and down by him as he sat, and as often ashe put the reed to the papyrus disturbed him with enquiries about therecluse, the sculptor, and their rescued protegee.

  When, finally, the Corinthian desired to know whether he, Publius,considered Irene's eyes to be brown or blue, he had sprung upimpatiently, and exclaimed indignantly:

  "And supposing they were red or green, what would it matter to me!"

  Lysias seemed pleased rather than vexed with this reply, and he was onthe point of confessing to his friend that Irene had caused in his hearta perfect conflagration--as of a forest or a city in flames--when amaster of the horse had appeared from Euergetes, to present the foursplendid horses from Cyrene, which his master requested the noble RomanPublius Cornelius Scipio Nasica to accept in token of his friendship.

  The two friends, who both were judges and lovers of horses, spentat least an hour in admiring the fine build and easy paces of thesevaluable beasts. Then came a chamberlain from the queen to invitePublius to go to her at once.

  The Roman followed the messenger after a short delay in his tent, inorder to take with him the gems representing the marriage of Hebe, foron his way from the sculptor's to the palace it had occurred to himthat he would offer them to the queen, after he had informed her ofthe parentage of the two water-carriers. Publius had keen eyes, and thequeen's weaknesses had not escaped him, but he had never suspectedher of being capable of abetting her licentious brother in forciblypossessing himself of the innocent daughter of a noble father. He nowpurposed to make her a present--as in some degree a substitute forthe representation his friend had projected, and which had cometo nothing--of the picture which she had hoped to find pleasure inreproducing.

  Cleopatra received him on her roof, a favor of which few could boast;she allowed him to sit at her feet while she reclined on her couch, andgave him to understand, by every glance of her eyes and every word shespoke, that his presence was a happiness to her, and filled her withpassionate delight. Publius soon contrived to lead the conversation tothe subject of the innocent parents of the water-bearers, who had beensent off to the goldmines; but Cleopatra interrupted his speech in theirfavor and asked him plainly, undisguisedly, and without any agitation,whether it was true that he himself desired to win the youthful Hebe.And she met his absolute denial with such persistent and repeatedexpressions of disbelief, assuming at last a tone of reproach, that hegrew vexed and broke out into a positive declaration that he regardedlying as unmanly and disgraceful, and could endure any insult ratherthan a doubt of his veracity.

  Such a vehement and energetic remonstrance from a man she haddistinguished was a novelty to Cleopatra, and she did not take it amiss,for she might now believe--what she much wished to believe--that Publiuswanted to have nothing to do with the fair Hebe, that Eulaeus hadslandered her friend, and that Zoe had been in error when, afterher vain expedition to the temple--from which she had then justreturned--she had told her that the Roman was Irene's lover, and must atthe earliest hour have betrayed to the girl herself, or to the priestsin the Serapeum, what was their purpose regarding her.

  In the soul of this noble youth there was nothing false--there could benothing false! And she, who was accustomed never to hear a word fromthe men who surrounded her without asking herself with what aim it wasspoken, and how much of it was dissimulation or downright falsehood,trusted the Roman, and was so happy in her trust that, full of graciousgaiety, she herself invited Publius to give her the recluse's petitionto read. The Roman at once gave her the roll, saying that since itcontained so much that was sad, much as he hoped she would make herselfacquainted with it, he felt himself called upon also to give hersome pleasure, though in truth but a very small one. Thus speaking heproduced the gems, and she showed as much delight over this little workof art as if, instead of being a rich queen and possessed of the finestengraved gems in the world, she were some poor girl receiving her firstgift of some long-desired gold ornament.

  "Exquisite, splendid!" she cried again and again. "And besides, theyare an imperishable memorial of you, dear friend, and of your visit toEgypt. I will have them set with the most precious stones; even diamondswill seem worthless to me compared with this gift from you. This hasalready decided my sentence as to Eulaeus and his unhappy victimsbefore I read your petition. Still I will read that roll, and readit attentively, for my husband regards Eulaeus as a useful--almost anindispensable-tool, and I must give good reasons for my verdict and forthe pardon. I believe in the innocence of the unfortunate Philotas,but if he had committed a hundred murders, after this present I wouldprocure his freedom all the same."

  The words vexed the Roman, and they made her who had spoken them inorder to please him appear to him at that moment more in the light of acorruptible official than of a queen. He found the time hang heavythat he spent with Cleopatra, who, in spite of his reserve, gave himto understand with more and more insistence how warmly she felt towardshim; but the more she talked and the more she told him, the more silenthe became, and he breathed a sigh of relief when her husband at lastappeared to fetch him and Cleopatra away to their mid-day meal.

  At table Philometor promised to take up the cause of Philotas and hiswife, both of whom he had known, and whose fate had much grieved him;still he begged his wife and the Roman not to bring Eulaeus to justicetill Euergetes should have left Memphis, for, during his brother'spresence, beset as he was with difficulties, he could not spare him; andif he might judge of Publius by himself he cared far more to reinstatethe innocent in their rights, and to release them from their miserablelot--a lot of which he had only learned the full horrors quite recentlyfrom his tutor Agatharchides--than to drag a wretch before the judgesto-morrow or the day after, who was unworthy of his anger, and who atany rate should not escape punishment.

  Before the letter from Asclepiodorus--stating the mistaken hypothesisentertained by the priests of Serapis that Irene had been carried offby the king's order--could reach the palace, Publius had found anopportunity of excusing himself and quitting the royal couple. Not evenCleopatra herself could raise any objection to his distinct assurancethat he must write to Rome today on matters of importance. Philometor'sfavor was easy to win, and as soon as he was alone with his wife hecould not find words enough in praise of the noble qualities of theyoung man, who seemed destined in the future to be of the greatestservice to him and to his interests at Rome, and whose friendly attitudetowards himself was one more advantage that he owed--as he was happy toacknowledge--to the irresistible talents and grace of his wife.

  When Publius had quitted the palace and hurried back to his tent, hefelt like a journeyman returning from a hard day's labor, or a manacquitted from a serious charge; like one who had lost his way, and hasfound the right road again.

  The heavy air in the arbors and alleys of the embowered gardens seemedto him easier to breathe than the cool breeze that fanned Cleopatra'sraised roof. He felt the queen's presence to be at once exciting andoppressive, and in spite of all that was flattering to himself in theadvances made to him by the powerful princess, it was no more gratifyingto his taste than an elegantly prepared dish served on gold plate, whichwe are forced to partake of though poison may be hidden in it, and whichwhen at last we taste it is sickeningly sweet.

  Publius was an honest man, and it seemed to him--as to all who resemblehim--that love which was forced upon him was like a decoration of honorbestowed by a hand which we do not respect, and that we would ratherrefuse than accept; or like praise out of all proportion to our merit,which may indeed delight a fool, but rouses the indignation rather thanthe gratitude of a wise man. It struck him too that Cleopatra intendedto make use
of him, in the first place as a toy to amuse herself, andthen as a useful instrument or underling, and this so gravely incensedand discomfited the serious and sensitive young man that he wouldwillingly have quitted Memphis and Egypt at once and without anyleave-taking. However, it was not quite easy for him to get away, forall his thoughts of Cleopatra were mixed up with others of Klea, asinseparably as when we picture to ourselves the shades of night, thetender light of the calm moon rises too before our fancy.

  Having saved Irene, his present desire was to restore her parents toliberty; to quit Egypt without having seen Klea once more seemed to himabsolutely impossible. He endeavored once more to revive in his mind theimage of her proud tall figure; he felt he must tell her that she wasbeautiful, a woman worthy of a king--that he was her friend and hatedinjustice, and was ready to sacrifice much for justice's sake and forher own in the service of her parents and herself. To-day again, beforethe banquet, he purposed to go to the temple, and to entreat the recluseto help him to an interview with his adopted daughter.

  If only Klea could know beforehand what he had been doing for Irene andtheir parents she must surely let him see that her haughty eyes couldlook kindly on him, must offer him her hand in farewell, and then heshould clasp it in both his, and press it to his breast. Then would hetell her in the warmest and most inspired words he could command howhappy he was to have seen her and known her, and how painful it was tobid her farewell; perhaps she might leave her hand in his, and givehim some kind word in return. One kind word--one phrase of thanks fromKlea's firm but beautiful mouth--seemed to him of higher value than akiss or an embrace from the great and wealthy Queen of Egypt.

  When Publius was excited he could be altogether carried away by a suddensweep of passion, but his imagination was neither particularly livelynor glowing. While his horses were being harnessed, and then whilehe was driving to the Serapeum, the tall form of the water-bearer wasconstantly before him; again and again he pictured himself holding herhand instead of the reins, and while he repeated to himself all he meantto say at parting, and in fancy heard her thank him with a tremblingvoice for his valuable help, and say that she would never forget him, hefelt his eyes moisten--unused as they had been to tears for many years.He could not help recalling the day when he had taken leave of hisfamily to go to the wars for the first time. Then it had not been hisown eyes but his mother's that had sparkled through tears, and it struckhim that Klea, if she could be compared to any other woman, was mostlike to that noble matron to whom he owed his life, and that she mightstand by the side of the daughter of the great Scipio Africanus like ayouthful Minerva by the side of Juno, the stately mother of the gods.

  His disappointment was great when he found the door of the templeclosed, and was forced to return to Memphis without having seen eitherKlea or the recluse.

  He could try again to-morrow to accomplish what had been impossibleto-day, but his wish to see the girl he loved, rose to a torturinglonging, and as he sat once more in his tent to finish his seconddespatch to Rome the thought of Klea came again to disturb his seriouswork. Twenty times he started up to collect his thoughts, and as oftenflung away his reed as the figure of the water-bearer interposed betweenhim and the writing under his hand; at last, out of patience withhimself, he struck the table in front of him with some force, set hisfists in his sides hard enough to hurt himself, and held them there fora minute, ordering himself firmly and angrily to do his duty before hethought of anything else.

  His iron will won the victory; by the time it was growing dusk thedespatch was written. He was in the very act of stamping the wax ofthe seal with the signet of his family--engraved on the sardonyx of hisring--when one of his servants announced a black slave who desired tospeak with him. Publius ordered that he should be admitted, and thenegro handed him the tile on which Eulaeus had treacherously writtenKlea's invitation to meet her at midnight near the Apis-tombs. Hisenemy's crafty-looking emissary seemed to the young man as a messengerfrom the gods; in a transport of haste and, without the faintest shadowof a suspicion he wrote, "I will be there," on the luckless piece ofclay.

  Publius was anxious to give the letter to the Senate, which he had justfinished, with his own hand, and privately, to the messenger who hadyesterday brought him the despatch from Rome; and as he would ratherhave set aside an invitation to carry off a royal treasure that samenight than have neglected to meet Klea, he could not in any case be aguest at the king's banquet, though Cleopatra would expect to see himthere in accordance with his promise. At this juncture he was annoyed tomiss his friend Lysias, for he wished to avoid offending the queen;and the Corinthian, who at this moment was doubtless occupied in someperfectly useless manner, was as clever in inventing plausible excusesas he himself was dull in such matters. He hastily wrote a few lines tothe friend who shared his tent, requesting him to inform the king thathe had been prevented by urgent business from appearing among his gueststhat evening; then he threw on his cloak, put on his travelling-hatwhich shaded his face, and proceeded on foot and without any servant tothe harbor, with his letter in one hand and a staff in the other.

  The soldiers and civic guards which filled the courts of the palace,taking him for a messenger, did not challenge him as he walked swiftlyand firmly on, and so, without being detained or recognized, he reachedthe inn by the harbor, where he was forced to wait an hour before themessenger came home from the gay strangers' quarter where he had gone toamuse himself. He had a great deal to talk of with this man, who was toset out next morning for Alexandria and Rome; but Publius hardly gavehimself the necessary time, for he meant to start for the meeting placein the Necropolis indicated by Klea, and well-known to himself, afull hour before midnight, although he knew that he could reach hisdestination in a very much shorter time.

  The sun seems to move too slowly to those who long and wait, and aplanet would be more likely to fail in punctuality than a lover whencalled by love.

  In order to avoid observation he did not take a chariot but a strongmule which the host of the inn lent him with pleasure; for the Romanwas so full of happy excitement in the hope of meeting Klea that hehad slipped a gold piece into the small, lightly-closed fingers of theinnkeeper's pretty child, which lay asleep on a bench by the side of thetable, besides paying double as much for the country wine he had drunkas if it had been fine Falernian and without asking for his reckoning.The host looked at him in astonishment when, finally, he sprang with agrand leap on to the back of the tall beast, without laying his hand onit; and it seemed even to Publius himself as though he had never sinceboyhood felt so fresh, so extravagantly happy as at this moment.

  The road to the tombs from the harbor was a different one to that whichled thither from the king's palace, and which Klea had taken, nor did itlead past the tavern in which she had seen the murderers. By day it wasmuch used by pilgrims, and the Roman could not miss it even by night,for the mule he was riding knew it well. That he had learned, for inanswer to his question as to what the innkeeper kept the beast for hehad said that it was wanted every day to carry pilgrims arriving fromUpper Egypt to the temple of Serapis and the tombs of the sacred bulls;he could therefore very decidedly refuse the host's offer to send adriver with the beast. All who saw him set out supposed that he wasreturning to the city and the palace.

  Publius rode through the streets of the city at an easy trot, and, asthe laughter of soldiers carousing in a tavern fell upon his ear, hecould have joined heartily in their merriment. But when the silentdesert lay around him, and the stars showed him that he would be muchtoo early at the appointed place, he brought the mule to a slower pace,and the nearer he came to his destination the graver he grew, and thestronger his heart beat. It must be something important and pressingindeed that Klea desired to tell him in such a place and at such anhour. Or was she like a thousand other women--was he now on the way toa lover's meeting with her, who only a few days before had responded tohis glance and accepted his violets?

  This thought flashed once through his mind with import
unatedistinctness, but he dismissed it as absurd and unworthy of himself.A king would be more likely to offer to share his throne with a beggarthan this girl would be to invite him to enjoy the sweet follies oflove-making with her in a secret spot.

  Of course she wanted above all things to acquire some certainty as toher sister's fate, perhaps too to speak to him of her parents; still,she would hardly have made up her mind to invite him if she had notlearned to trust him, and this confidence filled him with pride, and atthe same time with an eager longing to see her, which seemed to stormhis heart with more violence with every minute that passed.

  While the mule sought and found its way in the deep darkness with slowand sure steps, he gazed up at the firmament, at the play of the cloudswhich now covered the moon with their black masses, and now parted,floating off in white sheeny billows while the silver crescent of themoon showed between them like a swan against the dark mirror of a lake.

  And all the time he thought incessantly of Klea--thinking in a dreamyway that he saw her before him, but different and taller than before,her form growing more and more before his eyes till at last it was sotall that her head touched the sky, the clouds seemed to be her veil,and the moon a brilliant diadem in her abundant dark hair. Powerfullystirred by this vision he let the bridle fall on the mule's neck, andspread open his arms to the beautiful phantom, but as he rode forwardsit ever retired, and when presently the west wind blew the sand in hisface, and he had to cover his eyes with his hand it vanished entirely,and did not return before he found himself at the Apis-tombs.

  He had hoped to find here a soldier or a watchman to whom he couldentrust the beast, but when the midnight chant of the priests of thetemple of Osiris-Apis had died away not a sound was to be heard far ornear; all that lay around him was as still and as motionless as thoughall that had ever lived there were dead. Or had some demon robbed himof his hearing? He could hear the rush of his own swift pulses in hisears-not the faintest sound besides.

  Such silence is there nowhere but in the city of the dead and at night,nowhere but in the desert.

  He tied the mule's bridle to a stela of granite covered withinscriptions, and went forward to the appointed place. Midnight must bepast--that he saw by the position of the moon, and he was beginning toask himself whether he should remain standing where he was or go on tomeet the water-bearer when he heard first a light footstep, and then sawa tall erect figure wrapped in a long mantle advancing straight towardshim along the avenue of sphinxes. Was it a man or a woman--was it shewhom he expected? and if it were she, was there ever a woman who hadcome to meet a lover at an assignation with so measured, nay so solemn,a step? Now he recognized her face--was it the pale moonlight that madeit look so bloodless and marble-white? There was something rigid in herfeatures, and yet they had never--not even when she blushingly acceptedhis violets--looked to him so faultlessly beautiful, so regular and sonobly cut, so dignified, nay impressive.

  For fully a minute the two stood face to face, speechless and yet quitenear to each other. Then Publius broke the silence, uttering with thewarmest feeling and yet with anxiety in his deep, pure voice, only onesingle word; and the word was her name "Klea."

  The music of this single word stirred the girl's heart like a messageand blessing from heaven, like the sweetest harmony of the siren's song,like the word of acquittal from a judge's lips when the verdict is lifeor death, and her lips were already parted to say 'Publius' in a toneno less deep and heartfelt-but, with all the force of her soul, sherestrained herself, and said softly and quickly:

  "You are here at a late hour, and it is well that you have come."

  "You sent for me," replied the Roman.

  "It was another that did that, not I," replied Klea in a slow dull tone,as if she were lifting a heavy weight, and could hardly draw her breath."Now--follow me, for this is not the place to explain everything in."

  With these words Klea went towards the locked door of the Apis-tombs,and tried, as she stood in front of it, to insert into the lock thekey that Krates had given her; but the lock was still so new, and herfingers shook so much, that she could not immediately succeed. Publiusmeanwhile was standing close by her side, and as he tried to help herhis fingers touched hers.

  And when he--certainly not by mistake--laid his strong and yet tremblinghand on hers, she let it stay for a moment, for she felt as if a tide ofwarm mist rose up in her bosom dimming her perceptions, and paralyzingher will and blurring her sight.

  "Klea," he repeated, and he tried to take her left hand in his own;but she, like a person suddenly aroused to consciousness after a shortdream, immediately withdrew the hand on which his was resting, put thekey into the lock, opened the door, and exclaimed in a voice of almoststern command, "Go in first."

  Publius obeyed and entered the spacious antechamber of the venerablecave, hewn out of the rock and now dimly lighted. A curved passage ofwhich he could not see the end lay before him, and on both sides, tothe right and left of him, opened out the chambers in which stood thesarcophagi of the deceased sacred bulls. Over each of the enormous stonecoffins a lamp burnt day and night, and wherever a vault stood opentheir glimmer fell across the deep gloom of the cave, throwing a brightbeam of light on the dusky path that led into the heart of the rock,like a carpet woven of rays of light.

  What place was this that Klea had chosen to speak with him in.

  But though her voice sounded firm, she herself was not cool andinsensible as Orcus--which this place, which was filled with the fumesof incense and weighed upon his senses, much resembled--for he had felther fingers tremble under his, and when he went up to her, to help her,her heart beat no less violently and rapidly than his own. Ah! the manwho should succeed in touching that heart of hard, but pure and preciouscrystal would indeed enjoy a glorious draught of the most perfect bliss.

  "This is our destination," said Klea; and then she went on in shortbroken sentences. "Remain where you are. Leave me this place near thedoor. Now, answer me first one question. My sister Irene has vanishedfrom the temple. Did you cause her to be carried off?"

  "I did," replied Publius eagerly. "She desired me to greet you from her,and to tell you how much she likes her new friends. When I shall havetold you--"

  "Not now," interrupted Klea excitedly. "Turn round--there where you seethe lamp-light." Publius did as he was desired, and a slight shuddershook even his bold heart, for the girl's sayings and doings seemedto him not solemn merely, but mysterious like those of a prophetess.A violent crash sounded through the silent and sacred place, and loudechoes were tossed from side to side, ringing ominously throughout thegrotto. Publius turned anxiously round, and his eye, seeking Klea, foundher no more; then, hurrying to the door of the cave, he heard her lockit on the outside.

  The water-bearer had escaped him, had flung the heavy door to, andimprisoned him; and this idea was to the Roman so degrading andunendurable that, lost to every feeling but rage, wounded pride, andthe wild desire to be free, he kicked the door with all his might, andcalled out angrily to Klea:

  "Open this door--I command you. Let me free this moment or, by all thegods--"

  He did not finish his threat, for in the middle of the right-hand panelof the door a small wicket was opened through which the priests werewont to puff incense into the tomb of the sacred bulls--and twice,thrice, finally, when he still would not be pacified, a fourth time,Klea called out to him:

  "Listen to me--listen to me, Publius." Publius ceased storming, and shewent on:

  "Do not threaten me, for you will certainly repent it when you haveheard what I have to tell you. Do not interrupt me; I may tell you atonce this door is opened every day before sunrise, so your imprisonmentwill not last long; and you must submit to it, for I shut you in to saveyour life--yes, your life which was in danger. Do you think my anxietywas folly? No, Publius, it is only too well founded, and if you, as aman, are strong and bold, so am I as a woman. I never was afraid of animaginary nothing. Judge yourself whether I was not right to be afraidfor you. br />
  "King Euergetes and Eulaeus have bribed two hideous monsters to murderyou. When I went to seek out Irene I overheard all, and I have seen withmy own eyes the two horrible wolves who are lurking to fall upon you,and heard with these ears their scheme for doing it. I never wrote thenote on the tile which was signed with my name; Eulaeus did it, and youtook his bait and came out into the desert by night. In a few minutesthe ruffians will have stolen up to this place to seek their victim, butthey will not find you, Publius, for I have saved you--I, Klea, whom youfirst met with smiles--whose sister you have stolen away--the same Kleathat you a minute since were ready to threaten. Now, at once, I am goinginto the desert, dressed like a traveller in a coat and hat, so that inthe doubtful light of the moon I may easily be taken for you--going togive my weary heart as a prey to the assassins' knife."

  "You are mad!" cried Publius, and he flung himself with his whole weighton the door, and kicked it with all his strength. "What you purpose ispure madness open the door, I command you! However strong the villainsmay be that Euergetes has bribed, I am man enough to defend myself."

  "You are unarmed, Publius, and they have cords and daggers."

  "Then open the door, and stay here with me till day dawns. It is notnoble, it is wicked to cast away your life. Open the door at once, Ientreat you, I command you!"

  At any other time the words would not have failed of their effect onKlea's reasonable nature, but the fearful storm of feeling which hadbroken over her during the last few hours had borne away in its whirlall her composure and self-command. The one idea, the one resolution,the one desire, which wholly possessed her was to close the lifethat had been so full of self-sacrifice by the greatest sacrificeof all--that of life itself, and not only in order to secure Irene'shappiness and to save the Roman, but because it pleased her--herfather's daughter--to make a noble end; because she, the maiden, wouldfain show Publius what a woman might be capable of who loved him aboveall others; because, at this moment, death did not seem a misfortune;and her mind, overwrought by hours of terrific tension, could not freeitself from the fixed idea that she would and must sacrifice herself.

  She no longer thought these things--she was possessed by them; they hadthe mastery, and as a madman feels forced to repeat the same words againand again to himself, so no prayer, no argument at this moment wouldhave prevailed to divert her from her purpose of giving up her younglife for Publius and Irene. She contemplated this resolve with affectionand pride as justifying her in looking up to herself as to some noblercreature. She turned a deaf ear to the Roman's entreaty, and said in atone of which the softness surprised him:

  "Be silent Publius, and hear me further. You too are noble, andcertainly you owe me some gratitude for having saved your life."

  "I owe you much, and I will pay it," cried Publius, "as long as there isbreath in this body--but open the door, I beseech you, I implore you--"

  "Hear me to the end, time presses; hear me out, Publius. My sister Irenewent away with you. I need say nothing about her beauty, but how bright,how sweet her nature is you do not know, you cannot know, but you willfind out. She, you must be told, is as poor as I am, but the child offreeborn and noble parents. Now swear to me, swear--no, do not interruptme--swear by the head of your father that you will never, abandon her,that you will never behave to her otherwise than as if she were thedaughter of your dearest friend or of your own brother."

  "I swear it and I will keep my oath--by the life of the man whose headis more sacred to me than the names of all the gods. But now I beseechyou, I command you open this door, Klea--that I may not lose you--that Imay tell you that my whole heart is yours, and yours alone--that I loveyou, love you unboundedly."

  "I have your oath," cried the girl in great excitement, for she couldnow see a shadow moving backwards and forwards at some distance in thedesert. "You have sworn by the head of your father. Never let Irenerepent having gone with you, and love her always as you fancy now, inthis moment, that you love me, your preserver. Remember both of you thehapless Klea who would gladly have lived for you, but who now gladlydies for you. Do not forget me, Publius, for I have never but this onceopened my heart to love, but I have loved you Publius, with pain andtorment, and with sweet delight--as no other woman ever yet revelled inthe ecstasy of love or was consumed in its torments." She almost shoutedthe last words at the Roman as if she were chanting a hymn of triumph,beside herself, forgetting everything and as if intoxicated.

  Why was he now silent, why had he nothing to answer, since she hadconfessed to him the deepest secret of her breast, and allowed him tolook into the inmost sanctuary of her heart? A rush of burning wordsfrom his lips would have driven her off at once to the desert and todeath; his silence held her back--it puzzled her and dropped like coolrain on the soaring flames of her pride, fell on the raging turmoil ofher soul like oil on troubled water. She could not part from him thus,and her lips parted to call him once more by his name.

  While she had been making confession of her love to the Roman as ifit were her last will and testament, Publius felt like a man dyingof thirst, who has been led to a flowing well only to be forbiddento moisten his lips with the limpid fluid. His soul was filled withpassionate rage approaching to despair, and as with rolling eyes heglanced round his prison an iron crow-bar leaning against the wall methis gaze; it had been used by the workmen to lift the sarcophagus of thelast deceased Apis into its right place. He seized upon this tool, as adrowning man flings himself on a floating plank: still he heard Klea'slast words, and did not lose one of them, though the sweat poured fromhis brow as he inserted the metal lever like a wedge between the twohalves of the door, just above the threshold.

  All was now silent outside; perhaps the distracted girl was alreadyhurrying towards the assassins--and the door was fearfully heavy andwould not open nor yield. But he must force it--he flung himself on theearth and thrust his shoulder under the lever, pushing his wholebody against the iron bar, so that it seemed to him that every jointthreatened to give way and every sinew to crack; the door rose--oncemore he put forth the whole strength of his manly vigor, and now theseam in the wood cracked, the door flew open, and Klea, seized withterror, flew off and away--into the desert--straight towards themurderers.

  Publius leaped to his feet and flung himself out of his prison; as hesaw Klea escape he flew after her with, hasty leaps, and caught her ina few steps, for her mantle hindered her in running, and when she wouldnot obey his desire that she should stand still he stood in front of herand said, not tenderly but sternly and decidedly:

  "You do not go a step farther, I forbid it."

  "I am going where I must go," cried the girl in great agitation. "Let mego, at once!"

  "You will stay here--here with me," snarled Publius, and taking bothher hands by the wrists he clasped them with his iron fingers as withhandcuffs. "I am the man and you are the woman, and I will teach you whois to give orders here and who is to obey."

  Anger and rage prompted these quite unpremeditated words, and asKlea--while he spoke them with quivering lips--had attempted with theexertion of all her strength, which was by no means contemptible, towrench her hands from his grasp, he forced her--angry as he still was,but nevertheless with due regard for her womanliness--forced her by agentle and yet irresistible pressure on her arms to bend before him, andcompelled her slowly to sink down on both knees.

  As soon as she was in this position, Publius let her free; she coveredher eyes with her aching hands and sobbed aloud, partly from anger, andbecause she felt herself bitterly humiliated.

  "Now, stand up," said Publius in an altered tone as he heard herweeping. "Is it then such a hard matter to submit to the will of a manwho will not and cannot let you go, and whom you love, besides?" Howgentle and kind the words sounded! Klea, when she heard them, raised hereyes to Publius, and as she saw him looking down on her as a supplicanther anger melted and turned to grateful emotion--she went closer to himon her knees, laid her head against him and said:

  "I have alwa
ys been obliged to rely upon myself, and to guide anotherperson with loving counsel, but it must be sweeter far to be led byaffection and I will always, always obey you."

  "I will thank you with heart and soul henceforth from this hour!" criedPublius, lifting her up. "You were ready to sacrifice your life forme, and now mine belongs to you. I am yours and you are mine--I yourhusband, you my wife till our life's end!"

  He laid his hands on her shoulders, and turned her face round to his;she resisted no longer, for it was sweet to her to yield her will tothat of this strong man. And how happy was she, who from her childhoodhad taken it upon herself to be always strong, and self-reliant, to feelherself the weaker, and to be permitted to trust in a stronger arm thanher own. Somewhat thus a young rose-tree might feel, which for the firsttime receives the support of the prop to which it is tied by the carefulgardener.

  Her eyes rested blissfully and yet anxiously on his, and his lips hadjust touched hers in a first kiss when they started apart in terror, forKlea's name was clearly shouted through the still night-air, and in thenext instant a loud scream rang out close to them followed by dull criesof pain.

  "The murderers!" shrieked Klea, and trembling for herself and forhim she clung closely to her lover's breast. In one brief moment theself-reliant heroine--proud in her death-defying valor--had become aweak, submissive, dependent woman.