“Meanwhile, thou man, I shame not to say it before all these witnesses, I love thee, and it seems that this—­this woman or goddess—­loves thee also, and she has told us that now, now thou must choose between us once and for ever.  She has told us too that if I sinned against Isis, whose minister be it remembered she declares herself, herself she sinned yet more.  For she would have taken thee both from a heavenly mistress and from an earthly bride, and yet snatch that guerdon of immortality which is hers to-day.  Therefore if I am evil, she is worse, nor does the flame that burns within the casket whereof Oros spoke shine so very pure and bright.

“Choose thou then Leo Vincey, and let there be an end.  I vaunt not myself; thou knowest what I have been and seest what I am.  Yet I can give thee love and happiness and, mayhap, children to follow after thee, and with them some place and power.  What yonder witch can give thee thou canst guess.  Tales of the past, pictures on the flame, wise maxims and honeyed words, and after thou art dead once more, promises perhaps, of joy to come when that terrible goddess whom she serves so closely shall be appeased.  I have spoken.  Yet I will add a word: 

“O thou for whom, if the Hesea’s tale be true, I did once lay down my royal rank and dare the dangers of an unsailed sea; O thou whom in ages gone I would have sheltered with my frail body from the sorceries of this cold, self-seeking witch; O thou whom but a little while ago at my own life’s risk I drew from death in yonder river, choose, choose!”

To all this speech, so moderate yet so cruel, so well-reasoned and yet so false, because of its glosses and omissions, the huddled Ayesha seemed to listen with a fierce intentness.  Yet she made no answer, not a single word, not a sign even; she who had said her say and scorned to plead her part.

I looked at Leo’s ashen face.  He leaned towards Atene, drawn perhaps by the passion shining in her beauteous eyes, then of a sudden straightened himself, shook his head and sighed.  The colour flamed to his brow, and his eyes grew almost happy.

“After all,” he said, thinking aloud rather than speaking, “I have to do not with unknowable pasts or with mystic futures, but with the things of my own life.  Ayesha waited for me through two thousand years; Atene could marry a man she hated for power’s sake, and then could poison him, as perhaps she would poison me when I wearied her.  I know not what oaths I swore to Amenartas, if such a woman lived.  I remember the oaths I swore to Ayesha.  If I shrink from her now, why then my life is a lie and my belief a fraud; then love will not endure the touch of age and never can survive the grave.

“Nay, remembering what Ayesha was I take her as she is, in faith and hope of what she shall be.  At least love is immortal and if it must, why let it feed on memory alone till death sets free the soul.”

Then stepping to where stood the dreadful, shrivelled form, Leo knelt down before it and kissed her on the brow.