against Harmachis, and I went to Antony.  Thus it is through the jealous spleen of yonder fair Charmion and the passion of a man on which I played as on a lyre, that all these things have come to pass.  For this cause Octavian sits a King in Alexandria; for this cause Antony is discrowned and dead; and for this cause I, too, must die to-night!  Ah!  Charmion!  Charmion! thou hast much to answer, for thou hast changed the story of the world; and yet, even now—­I would not have it otherwise!”

She paused awhile, covering her eyes with her hand; and, looking, I saw great tears upon the cheek of Charmion.

“And of this Harmachis,” I asked; “where is he now, O Queen?”

“Where is he?  In Amenti, forsooth—­making his peace with Isis, perchance.  At Tarsus I saw Antony, and loved him; and from that moment I loathed the sight of the Egyptian, and swore to make an end of him; for a lover done with should be a lover dead.  And, being jealous, he spoke some words of evil omen, even at that Feast of the Pearl; and on the same night I would have slain him, but before the deed was done, he was gone.”

“And whither was he gone?”

“Nay; that know not I. Brennus—­he who led my guard, and last year sailed North to join his own people—­Brennus swore he saw him float to the skies; but in this matter I misdoubted me of Brennus, for methinks he loved the man.  Nay, he sank off Cyprus, and was drowned; perchance Charmion can tell us how?”

“I can tell thee nothing, O Queen; Harmachis is lost.”

“And well lost, Charmion, for he was an evil man to play with—­ay, although I bettered him I say it!  Well he served my purpose; but I loved him not, and even now I fear him; for it seemed to me that I heard his voice summoning me to fly, through the din of the fight at Actium.  Thanks be to the Gods, as thou sayest, he is lost, and can no more be found.”

But I, listening, put forth my strength, and, by the arts I have, cast the shadow of my Spirit upon the Spirit of Cleopatra so that she felt the presence of the lost Harmachis.

“Nay, what is it?” she said.  “By Serapis!  I grow afraid!  It seems to me that I feel Harmachis here!  His memory overwhelms me like a flood of waters, and he these ten years dead!  Oh! at such a time it is unholy!”

“Nay, O Queen,” I answered, “if he be dead then he is everywhere, and well at such a time—­the time of thy own death—­may his Spirit draw near to welcome thine at its going.”

“Speak not thus, Olympus.  I would see Harmachis no more; the count between us is too heavy, and in another world than this more evenly, perchance should we be matched.  Ah, the terror passes!  I was but unnerved.  Well the fool’s story hath served to wile away the heaviest of our hours, the hour which ends in death.  Sing to me, Charmion, sing, for thy voice is very sweet, and I would soothe my soul to sleep.  The memory of that Harmachis has wrung me strangely!  Sing, then, the last song I shall hear from those tuneful lips of thine, the last of so many songs.”