‘Hear me!’ said Ione, speaking firmly, and with a deliberate and solemn voice:  ’If Glaucus be saved by thee, I will never be borne to his home a bride.  But I cannot master the horror of other rites:  I cannot wed with thee.  Interrupt me not; but mark me, Arbaces!—­if Glaucus die, on that same day I baffle thine arts, and leave to thy love only my dust!  Yes—­thou mayst put the knife and the poison from my reach—­thou mayst imprison—­thou mayst chain me, but the brave soul resolved to escape is never without means.  These hands, naked and unarmed though they be, shall tear away the bonds of life.  Fetter them, and these lips shall firmly refuse the air.  Thou art learned—­thou hast read how women have died rather than meet dishonour.  If Glaucus perish, I will not unworthily linger behind him.  By all the gods of the heaven, and the ocean, and the earth, I devote myself to death!  I have said!’

High, proud, dilating in her stature, like one inspired, the air and voice of Ione struck an awe into the breast of her listener.

‘Brave heart!’ said he, after a short pause; ’thou art indeed worthy to be mine.  Oh! that I should have dreamt of such a partner in my lofty destinies, and never found it but in thee!  Ione,’ he continued rapidly, ’dost thou not see that we are born for each other?  Canst thou not recognize something kindred to thine own energy—­thine own courage—­in this high and self-dependent soul?  We were formed to unite our sympathies—­formed to breathe a new spirit into this hackneyed and gross world—­formed for the mighty ends which my soul, sweeping down the gloom of time, foresees with a prophet’s vision.  With a resolution equal to thine own, I defy thy threats of an inglorious suicide.  I hail thee as my own!  Queen of climes undarkened by the eagle’s wing, unravaged by his beak, I bow before thee in homage and in awe—­but I claim thee in worship and in love!  Together will we cross the ocean—­together will we found our realm; and far distant ages shall acknowledge the long race of kings born from the marriage-bed of Arbaces and Ione!’

’Thou ravest!  These mystic declamations are suited rather to some palsied crone selling charms in the market-place than to the wise Arbaces.  Thou hast heard my resolution—­it is fixed as the Fates themselves.  Orcus has heard my vow, and it is written in the book of the unforgetful Hades.  Atone, then, O Arbaces!—­atone the past:  convert hatred into regard—­vengeance into gratitude; preserve one who shall never be thy rival.  These are acts suited to thy original nature, which gives forth sparks of something high and noble.  They weigh in the scales of the Kings of Death:  they turn the balance on that day when the disembodied soul stands shivering and dismayed between Tartarus and Elysium; they gladden the heart in life, better and longer than the reward of a momentary passion.  Oh, Arbaces! hear me, and be swayed!’

’Enough, Ione.  All that I can do for Glaucus shall be done; but blame me not if I fail.  Inquire of my foes, even, if I have not sought, if I do not seek, to turn aside the sentence from his head; and judge me accordingly.  Sleep then, Ione.  Night wanes; I leave thee to rest—­and mayst thou have kinder dreams of one who has no existence but in thine.’