shalt be my counsellor and my love.  Is it a little thing, Harmachis, to have won the heart of Cleopatra; that heart—­fie on thee!—­that thou wouldst have stilled?  Yes, thou shalt unite me to my people and we will reign together, thus linking in one the new kingdom and the old and the new thought and the old.  So do all things work for good—­ay, for the very best:  and thus, by another and a gentler road, thou shalt climb to Pharaoh’s throne.

“See thou this, Harmachis:  thy treachery shall be cloaked about as much as may be.  Was it, then, thy fault that a Roman knave betrayed thy plans? that, thereon, thou wast drugged, thy secret papers stolen and their key guessed?  Will it, then, be a blame to thee, the great plot being broken and those who built it scattered, that thou, still faithful to thy trust, didst serve thee of such means as Nature gave thee, and win the heart of Egypt’s Queen, that, through her gentle love, thou mightest yet attain thy ends and spread thy wings of power across the land of Nile?  Am I an ill-counsellor, thinkest thou, Harmachis?”

I lifted my head, and a ray of hope crept into the darkness of my heart; for when men fall they grasp at feathers.  Then, I spoke for the first time: 

“And those with me—­those who trusted me—­what of them?”

“Ay,” she answered, “Amenemhat, thy father, the aged Priest of Abouthis; and Sepa, thy uncle, that fiery patriot, whose great heart is hid beneath so common a shell of form; and——­”

I thought she would have said Charmion, but she named her not.

“And many others—­oh, I know them all!”

“Ay!” I said, “what of them?”

“Hear now, Harmachis,” she answered, rising and placing her hand upon my arm, “for thy sake I will show mercy to them.  I will do no more than must be done.  I swear by my throne and by all the Gods of Egypt that not one hair of thy aged father’s head shall be harmed by me; and, if it be not too late, I will also spare thy uncle Sepa, ay, and the others.  I will not do as did my forefather, Epiphanes, who, when the Egyptians rose against him, dragged Athinis, Pausiras, Chesuphus, and Irobasthus, bound to his chariot—­not as Achilles dragged Hector, but yet living—­round the city walls.  I will spare them all, save the Hebrews, if there be any Hebrews; for the Jews I hate.”

“There are no Hebrews,” I said.

“It is well,” she said, “for no Hebrew will I ever spare.  Am I then, indeed, so cruel a woman as they say?  In thy list, Harmachis, were many doomed to die; and I have but taken the life of one Roman knave, a double traitor, for he betrayed both me and thee.  Art thou not overwhelmed, Harmachis, with the weight of mercy which I give thee, because—­such are a woman’s reasons—­thou pleasest me, Harmachis?  Nay, by Serapis!” she added with a little laugh, “I’ll change my mind; I will not give thee so much for nothing.  Thou shalt buy it from me, and the price shall be a heavy one—­it shall be a kiss, Harmachis.”