She swore she loved and her love fulfilled itself in death and many a mysterious way.  Yet it was hard to believe that this passion of hers was more than a spoken part, for how can the star seek the moth although the moth may seek the star?  Though the man may worship the goddess, for all her smiles divine, how can the goddess love the man?

But now everything was altered!  Look!  Ayesha grew human; I could see her heart beat beneath her robes and hear her breath come in soft, sweet sobs, while o’er her upturned face and in her alluring eyes there spread itself that look which is born of love alone.  Radiant and more radiant did she seem to grow, sweeter and more sweet, no longer the veiled Hermit of the Caves, no longer the Oracle of the Sanctuary, no longer the Valkyrie of the battle-plain, but only the loveliest and most happy bride that ever gladdened a husband’s eyes.

She spoke, and it was of little things, for thus Ayesha proclaimed the conquest of herself.

“Fie!” she said, showing her white robes torn with spears and stained by the dust and dew of war; “Fie, my lord, what marriage garments are these in which at last I come to thee, who would have been adorned in regal gems and raiment befitting to my state and thine?”

“I seek the woman not her garment,” said Leo, his burning eyes fixed upon her face.

“Thou seekest the woman.  Ah! there it lies.  Tell me, Leo, am I woman or spirit?  Say that I am woman, for now the prophecy of this dead Atene lies heavy on my soul, Atene who said that mortal and immortal may not mate.”

“Thou must be woman, or thou wouldst not have tormented me as thou hast done these many weeks.”

“I thank thee for the comfort of thy words.  Yet, was it woman whose breath wrought destruction upon yonder plain?  Was it to a woman that Blast and Lightning bowed and said, ‘We are here:  Command us, we obey’?  Did that dead thing (and she pointed to the shattered door) break inward at a woman’s will?  Or could a woman charm this man to stone?

“Oh!  Leo, would that I were woman!  I tell thee that I’d lay all my grandeur down, a wedding offering at thy feet, could I be sure that for one short year I should be naught but woman and—­thy happy wife.

“Thou sayest that I did torment thee, but it is I who have known torment, I who desired to yield and dared not.  Aye, I tell thee, Leo, were I not sure that thy little stream of life is draining dry into the great ocean of my life, drawn thither as the sea draws its rivers, or as the sun draws mists, e’en now I would not yield.  But I know, for my wisdom tells it me, ere ever we could reach the shores of Libya, the ill work would be done, and thou dead of thine own longing, thou dead and I widowed who never was a wife.

“Therefore see! like lost Atene I take the dice and cast them, not knowing how they shall fall.  Not knowing how they shall fall, for good or ill I cast,” and she made a wild motion as of some desperate gamester throwing his last throw.