Thus he beat her with his words, and, wonderful to say, Ayesha, this being more than woman, submitted to the chastisement meekly.  Yet had any other man dared to address her with roughness even, I doubt not that his speech and his life would have come to a swift and simultaneous end, for I knew that now, as of old, she could slay by the mere effort of her will.  But she did not slay; she did not even threaten, only, as any other loving woman might have done, she began to cry.  Yes, great tears gathered in those lovely eyes of hers and, rolling one by one down her face, fell—­for her head was bent humbly forward—­like heavy raindrops on the marble floor.

At the sight of this touching evidence of her human, loving heart all Leo’s anger melted.  Now it was he who grew penitent and prayed her pardon humbly.  She gave him her hand in token of forgiveness, saying—­“Let others speak to me as they will” (sorry should I have been to try it!) “but from thee, Leo, I cannot bear harsh words.  Oh, thou art cruel, cruel.  In what have I offended?  Can I help it if my spirit keeps its watch upon thee, as indeed, though thou knewest it not, it has done ever since we parted yonder in the Place of Life?  Can I help it if, like some mother who sees her little child at play upon a mountain’s edge, my soul is torn with agony when I know thee in dangers that I am powerless to prevent or share?  What are the lives of a few half-wild huntsmen that I should let them weigh for a single breath against thy safety, seeing that if I slew these, others would be more careful of thee?  Whereas if I slay them not, they or their fellows may even lead thee into perils that would bring about—­thy death,” and she gasped with horror at the word.

“Listen, beloved,” said Leo.  “The life of the humblest of those men is of as much value to him as mine is to me, and thou hast no more right to kill him than thou hast to kill me.  It is evil that because thou carest for me thou shouldst suffer thy love to draw thee into cruelty and crime.  If thou art afraid for me, then clothe me with that immortality of thine, which, although I dread it somewhat, holding it a thing unholy, and, on this earth, not permitted by my Faith, I should still rejoice to inherit for thy dear sake, knowing that then we could never more be parted.  Or, if as thou sayest, this as yet thou canst not do, then let us be wed and take what fortune gives us.  All men must die; but at least before I die I shall have been happy with thee for a while—­yes, if only for a single hour.”

“Would that I dared,” Ayesha answered with a little piteous motion of her hand.  “Oh! urge me no more, Leo, lest that at last I should take the risk and lead thee down a dreadful road.  Leo, hast thou never heard of the love which slays, or of the poison that may lurk in a cup of joy too perfect?”

Then, as though she feared herself, Ayesha turned from him and fled.