“Nothing, nothing!” he eagerly exclaimed, seizing her other hand with passionate fervor.

She felt as if all the blood in her body had rushed in a full tide to her heart—­as if he were some part of her very being, that had been torn out, snatched from her, and that she must have back again, even if it cost them both their life and happiness.  The impulse was irresistible; she drew away her hands from his grasp and flung them round his neck, clinging to him as a weary child clings to its mother.  She did not know how it had come about—­how such a thing was possible, but it was done; and without paying any heed to Marianne, who looked on in dismay while her son’s lips were pressed to the brow and lips of the lovely idolatress, she wept upon her lover’s shoulders, feeling a thousand roses blossoming in her soul and a thousand thorns piercing and tearing her heart.

It had to be, that she felt; it was at once their union and their parting.  Their common destiny was but for a moment, and that moment had come and gone.  All that now retrained for them was death—­destruction, with all things living; and she looked forward to this, as a man watches for the dawn after a sleepless night.  Marianne stood aside; she dimly perceived that something vital was going on, that something inevitable had happened which would admit of no interference.  Gorgo, as she freed herself from Constantine’s embrace, stood strangely solemn and unapproachable.  To the simple matron she was an inscrutable riddle to which she could find no clue; but she was pleased, nevertheless, when Gorgo came up to her and kissed her hand.  She could not utter a word, for she felt that whatever she might say, it would not be the right thing; and it was a real relief to her to busy herself over the removal of the body, in which she could be helpful.

Gorgo had covered the dead face; and when old Damia had been carried down to the thalamos and laid in state on the bridal bed, she strewed the couch with flowers.

Meanwhile, the priest of Saturn had been found, and he declared in all confidence that no power on earth could have recalled this departed soul.  Damia’s sudden end and the girl’s great grief went to his faithful heart, and he gladly acceded to Gorgo’s request that he would wait for her by the garden-gate and escort her to the Serapeum.  When he had left them she gave the keys of her grandmother’s chests and cupboards into Marianne’s keeping; then she went into the adjoining room, where Constantine had been waiting while she decked the bed of death, and bid him a solemn, but apparently calm, farewell.  He put out his arm to clasp her to his heart, but this she would not permit; and when he besought her to go home with them she answered sadly, “No, my dearest...  I must not; I have other duties to fulfil.”

“Yes,” he replied emphatically, “and I, too—­I have mine.  But you have given yourself to me.  You are my very own; you belong to me only, and not to yourself; and I desire, I command you to yield to my first request.  Go with my mother, or stay here, if you will, with the dead.  Wherever your father may be, it is not, cannot be, the right place for you—­my betrothed bride.  I can guess where be is.  Oh!  Gorgo, be warned.