bowed and worship, for that is I. Think of the hideous, withered Thing thou sawest naked on the rock, and flee away, for that is I. Or keep me lovely, and adore, knowing all evil centred in my spirit, for that is I. Now, Leo, thou hast the truth.  Put me from thee for ever and for ever if thou wilt, and be safe; or clasp me, clasp me to thy heart, and in payment for my lips and love take my sin upon thy head!  Nay, Holly, be thou silent, for now he must judge alone.”

Leo turned, as I thought, at first, to find the door.  But it was not so, for he did but walk up and down the room awhile.  Then he came back to where Ayesha stood, and spoke quite simply and in a very quiet voice, such as men of his nature often assume in moments of great emotion.

“Ayesha,” he said, “when I saw thee as thou wast, aged and—­thou knowest how—­I clung to thee.  Now, when thou hast told me the secret of this unholy pact of thine, when with my eyes, at least, I have seen thee reigning a mistress of spirits good or ill, yet I cling to thee.  Let thy sin, great or little—­whate’er it is—­be my sin also.  In truth, I feel its weight sink to my soul and become a part of me, and although I have no vision or power of prophecy, I am sure that I shall not escape its punishment.  Well, though I be innocent, let me bear it for thy sake.  I am content.”

Ayesha heard, the cloak slipped from her head, and for a moment she stood silent like one amazed, then burst into a passion of sudden tears.  Down she went before him, and clinging to his garments, she bowed her stately shape until her forehead touched the ground.  Yes, that proud being, who was more than mortal, whose nostrils but now had drunk the incense of the homage of ghosts or spirits, humbled herself at this man’s feet.

With an exclamation of horror, half-maddened at the piteous sight, Leo sprang to one side, then stooping, lifted and led her still weeping to the couch.

“Thou knowest not what thou hast done,” Ayesha said at last.  “Let all thou sawest on the Mountain’s crest or in the Sanctuary be but visions of the night; let that tale of an offended goddess be a parable, a fable, if thou wilt.  This at least is true, that ages since I sinned for thee and against thee and another; that ages since I bought beauty and life indefinite wherewith I might win thee and endow thee at a cost which few would dare; that I have paid interest on the debt, in mockery, utter loneliness, and daily pain which scarce could be endured, until the bond fell due at last and must be satisfied.

“Yes, how I may not tell thee, thou and thou alone stoodst between me and the full discharge of this most dreadful debt—­for know that in mercy it is given to us to redeem one another.”