Granting this hypothesis, the second point was—­what might be the object of her elaborate and most bitter jest?  Well, I thought that I could guess.  First, she wished to show her power, or rather to make me believe that she had power of a very unusual sort.  Secondly, she owed Umslopogaas and myself a debt for our services in the war with Rezu which we had been told would be repaid in this way.  Thirdly, I had offended her in some fashion and she took her opportunity of settling the score.  Also there was a fourth possibility—­that really she considered herself a moral instructress and desired, as she said, to teach me a lesson by showing how futile were human hopes and vanities in respect to the departed and their affections.

Now I do not pretend that all this analysis of Ayesha’s motives occurred to me at the moment of my interview with her; indeed, I only completed it later after much careful thought, when I found it sound and good.  At that time, although I had inklings, I was too bewildered to form a just judgment.

Further, I was too angry and it was from this bow of my anger that I loosed a shaft at a venture as to some lesson which awaited her.  Perhaps certain words spoken by the dying Rezu had shaped that shaft.  Or perhaps some shadow of her advancing fate fell upon me.

The success of the shot, however, was remarkable.  Evidently it pierced the joints of her harness, and indeed went home to Ayesha’s heart.  She turned pale; all the peach-bloom hues faded from her lovely face, her great eyes seemed to lessen and grow dull and her cheeks to fall in.  Indeed, for a moment she looked old, very old, quite an aged woman.  Moreover she wept, for I saw two big tears drop upon her white raiment and I was horrified.

“What has happened to you?” I said, or rather gasped.

“Naught,” she answered, “save that thou hast hurt me sore.  Dost thou not know, Allan, that it is cruel to prophesy ill to any, since such words feathered from Fate’s own wing and barbed with venom, fester in the breast and mayhap bring about their own accomplishment.  Most cruel of all is it when with them are repaid friendship and gentleness.”

I reflected to myself—­yes, friendship of the order that is called candid, and gentleness such as is hid in a cat’s velvet paw, but contented myself with asking how it was that she who said she was so powerful, came to fear anything at all.

“Because as I have told thee, Allan, there is no armour that can turn the spear of Destiny which, when I heard those words of thine, it seemed to me, I know not why, was directed by thy hand.  Look now on Rezu who thought himself unconquerable and yet was slain by the black Axe-bearer and whose bones to-night stay the famine of the jackals.  Moreover I am accursed who sought to steal its servant from Heaven to be my love, and how know I when and where vengeance will fall at last?  Indeed, it has fallen already on me, who through the long ages amid savages must mourn widowed and alone, but not all of it—­oh!  I think, not all.”