Ithaca could
work such a coward deed as this, or, unbidden, seek to clasp thee to his
heart. Moreover, I read in thine eyes that thou thyself dost love the
man whom thou namest dastard. Nay, hold thy peace, look not so wildly
on me whom thou canst not harm, but hearken. Whether thy tale be true or
false I know not, who use no magic and learn those things only that the
Gods reveal to me. But this at the least is true, that Odysseus, whom I
should have wed, has looked on thee with eyes of love, even in that hour
when I waited to be made his wife. Therefore the love that but two days
agone bloomed in my heart, dies and withers; or if it does not, at least
I cast it from me and tread its flowers beneath my feet. For this doom
the Gods have laid upon me, who am of all women the most hapless, to
live beloved but loveless through many years, and at the last to love
and be betrayed. And now I go hence back to my temple shrine; but fear
not, Meriamun, not for long shall I trouble thee or Khem, and men shall
die no more because of my beauty, for I shall presently pass hence
whither the Gods appoint; and this I say to thee--deal gently with that
man who has betrayed my faith, for whatever he did was done for the love
of thee. It is no mean thing to have won the heart of Odysseus of Ithaca
out of the hand of Argive Helen. Fare thee well, Meriamun, who wouldst
have slain me. May the Gods grant thee better days and more of joy than
is given to Helen, who would look upon thy face no more."

Thus she spake, and letting her veil fall turned to go. For awhile the
Queen stood shamed to silence by these gentle words, that fell like dew
upon the fires of her hate. But ere Helen had passed the length of a
spear her fury burned up again. What, should she let this strange woman
go--this woman who alone of all that breathed was more beautiful than
she, by the aid of whose stolen beauty she alone had won her love, and
for whose sake she had endured such bitter words of scorn? Nay, while
Helen yet lived she could find not joy nor sleep. But were Helen dead,
then perchance all might yet be well, and the Wanderer yet be hers, for
when the best is gone men turn them to the better.

"Close the gates and bar them," she cried to the men, who now streamed
back into the hall; and they ran to do her bidding, so that before Helen
reached the Palace doors, they had been shut and the gates of bronze
beyond had clashed like the shields of men.

Now Helen dr