Dreams, dreams, dreams! without end and ever-changing, as for years andyears I seemed to toss upon a sea of agony. And through them a vision ofa dark-eyed woman's tender face and the touch of a white hand soothingme to rest. Visions, too, of a royal countenance bending at times overmy rocking bed--a countenance that I could not grasp, but whose beautyflowed through my fevered veins and was a part of me--visions ofchildhood and of the Temple towers of Abouthis, and of the white-hairedAmenemhat, my father--ay, and an ever-present vision of that dread hallin Amenti, and of the small altar and the Spirits clad in flame! There Iseemed to wander everlastingly, calling on the Holy Mother, whose memoryI could not grasp; calling ever and in vain! For no cloud descended uponthe altar, only from time to time the great Voice pealed aloud: "Strikeout the name of Harmachis, child of Earth, from the living Book of Herwho Was and Is and Shall Be! _Lost! lost! lost!_"
And then another voice would answer:
"Not yet! not yet! Repentance is at hand; strike not out the name ofHarmachis, child of Earth, from the living Book of Her who Was and Isand Shall Be! By suffering may sin be wiped away!"
I woke to find myself in my own chamber in the tower of the palace. Iwas so weak that I scarce could lift my hand, and life seemed but toflutter in my breast as flutters a dying dove. I could not turn my head;I could not stir; yet in my heart there was a sense of rest and of darktrouble done. The light from the lamp hurt my eyes: I shut them, and,as I shut them, heard the sweep of a woman's robes upon the stair, and aswift, light step that I knew well. It was that of Cleopatra!
She entered and drew near. I felt her come! Every pulse of my poor framebeat an answer to her footfall, and all my mighty love and hate rosefrom the darkness of my death-like sleep, and rent me in their struggle!She leaned over me; her ambrosial breath played upon my face: I couldhear the beating of her heart! Lower she leaned, till at last her lipstouched me softly on the brow.
"Poor man!" I heard her murmur. "Poor, weak, dying Man! Fate hath beenhard to thee! Thou wert too good to be the sport of such a one as I--thepawn that I must move in my play of policy! Ah, Harmachis! thou shouldsthave ruled the game! Those plotting priests could give thee learning;but they could not give thee knowledge of mankind, nor fence theeagainst the march of Nature's law. And thou didst love me with all thyheart--ah! well I know it! Manlike, thou didst love the eyes that, asa pirate's lights, beckoned thee to shipwrecked ruin, and didst hangdoting on the lips which lied thy heart away and called thee 'slave'!Well; the game was fair, for thou wouldst have slain me; and yet Igrieve. So thou dost die? and this is my farewell to thee! Never may wemeet again on earth; and, perchance, it is well, for who knows, when myhour of tenderness is past, how I might deal with thee, didst thou live?Thou dost die, they say--those learned long-faced fools, who, if theylet thee die, shall pay the price. And where, then, shall we meet againwhen my last throw is thrown? We shall be equal there, in the kingdomthat Osiris rules. A little time, a few years--perhaps to-morrow--and weshall meet; then, knowing all I am, how wilt thou greet me? Nay, here,as there, still must thou worship me! for injuries cannot touch theimmortality of such a love as thine. Contempt alone, like acid, caneat away the love of noble hearts, and reveal the truth in its pitifulnakedness. Thou must still cling to thee, Harmachis; for, whatever mysins, yet I am great and set above thy scorn. Would that I could haveloved thee as thou lovest me! Almost I did so when thou slewest thoseguards; and yet--not quite.
"What a fenced city is my heart, that none can take it, and, even whenI throw the gates wide, no man may win its citadel! Oh, to put away thisloneliness and lose me in another's soul! Oh, for a year, a month, anhour to quite forget policy, peoples, and my pomp of place, and be buta loving woman! Harmachis, fare thee well! Go join great Julius whom thyart called up from death before me, and take Egypt's greetings to him.Ah well! I fooled thee, and I fooled Caesar--perchance before all is doneFate will find me, and myself I shall be fooled. Harmachis, fare theewell!"
She turned to go, and as she turned I heard the sweep of another dressand the light fall of another woman's foot.
"Ah! it is thou, Charmion. Well, for all thy watching the man dies."
"Ay," she answered, in a voice thick with grief. "Ay, O Queen, so thephysicians say. Forty hours has he lain in stupor so deep that at timeshis breath could barely lift this tiny feather's weight, and hardlycould my ear, placed against his breast, take notice of the rising ofhis heart. I have watched him now for ten long days, watched him day andnight, till my eyes stare wide with want of sleep, and for faintnessI can scarce keep myself from falling. And this is the end of all mylabour! The coward blow of that accursed Brennus has done its work, andHarmachis dies!"
"Love counts not its labour, Charmion, nor can it weight its tendernesson the scale of purchase. That which it has it gives, and craves formore to give and give, till the soul's infinity be drained. Dear to thyheart are these heavy nights of watching; sweet to thy weary eyesis that sad sight of strength brought so low that it hangs upon thyweakness like a babe to its mother's breast! For, Charmion, thou dostlove this man who loves thee not, and now that he is helpless thou canstpour thy passion forth over the unanswering darkness of his soul, andcheat thyself with dreams of what yet might be."
"I love him not, as thou hast proof, O Queen! How can I love one whowould have slain thee, who art as my heart's sister? It is for pity thatI nurse him."
She laughed a little as she answered, "Pity is love's own twin,Charmion. Wondrous wayward are the paths of woman's love, and thou hastshown thine strangely, that I know. But the more high the love, thedeeper the gulf whereinto it can fall--ay, and thence soar again toheaven, once more to fall! Poor woman! thou art thy passion's plaything:now tender as the morning sky, and now, when jealousy grips thy heart,more cruel than the sea. Well, thus are we made. Soon, after all thistroubling, nothing will be left thee but tears, remorse, and--memory."
And she went forth.