had stirred the inmost depths of her
being to rave itself out with the full vehemence of her passionate
nature. Charmian called her name and, weeping herself, ripened her arms
to her, and for the first time since her return from Actium her sister's
daughter again sank upon her breast, and they held each other in a close
embrace until Charmian's exclamation, "With her, for her unto death!" was
answered by Iras's "To the tomb!"

This was a word which, in many an hour of the silent night, had stirred
the soul of the woman who had been the youthful playmate of the Queen
who, with bleeding heart, sat below among the revellers at the noisy
banquet and forced her to ask the question: "Is not your fate bound to
hers? What can life offer you without her?"

Now, this word was spoken by other lips, and, like an echo of Iras's
exclamation, came the answer: "Unto death, like you, if she precedes us
to the other world. Whatever may follow dying, nowhere shall she lack
Charmian's hand and heart."

"Nor the love and service of Iras," was the answering assurance.

So they had parted, and the agitation of this fateful moment was still
visible in the features of the woman who had formerly sacrificed to her
royal playfellow her love, and now offered her life.

When, ere leaving Gorgias's house, she bade her friend farewell, she
pressed Dion's hand with affectionate warmth and, as he accompanied her
to the carriage, she informed him that, before the first encounter of the
troops, Archibius had taken the royal children to his estate of Irenia,
where they were at present.

"Rarely has it been my fate to experience a more sorrowful hour than when
I beheld the Queen, her heart torn with anguish, bid them fare well. What
fate is impending over the dear ones, who are so worthy of the greatest
happiness? To see the twins and little Alexander recognized and saved
from death and insult, and your boy in Barine's arms, is the last wish
which I still cherish."

On returning to Lochias, Charmian had a long time to wait ere the Queen
retired. She dreaded the mood in which she would leave the banquet. For
months past Cleopatra had returned from the revels of the "Comrades of
Death" saddened to tears, or in a blaze of indignation. How must this
last banquet, which began so mournfully and continued with such reckless
mirth, affect her?

At last, the second hour after midnight, Cleopatra appeared.

Charmian believed that she must be the sport of so