as I had never
seen her wear before; it was sadder and more fateful than any stamp that
grief can set upon the brow.

For, though being blinded by my own folly and the trouble at my heart I
knew it not, with that smile, the happiness of youth died for Charmion
the Egyptian; the hope of love fled; and the holy links of duty burst
asunder. With that smile she consecrated herself to Evil, she renounced
her Country and her Gods, and trampled on her oath. Ay, that smile marks
the moment when the stream of history changed its course. For had I
never seen it on her face Octavianus had not bestridden the world, and
Egypt had once more been free and great.

And yet it was but a woman's smile!

"Why lookest thou thus strangely, girl?" I asked.

"In dreams we smile," she answered. "And now it is time; follow thou me.
Be firm and prosper, royal Harmachis!" and bending forward she took my
hand and kissed it. Then, with one strange last look, she turned and led
the way down the stair and through the empty halls.

In the chamber that is called the Alabaster Hall, the roof of which
is upborne by columns of black marble, we stayed. For beyond was the
private chamber of Cleopatra, the same in which I had seen her sleeping.

"Abide thou here," she said, "while I tell Cleopatra of thy coming," and
she glided from my side.

I stood for long, mayhap in all the half of an hour, counting my own
heart-beats, and, as in a dream, striving to gather up my strength to
that which lay before me.

At length Charmion came back, her head held low and walking heavily.

"Cleopatra waits thee," she said: "pass on, there is no guard."

"Where do I meet thee when what must be done is done?" I asked hoarsely.

"Thou meetest me here, and then to Paulus. Be firm and prosper.
Harmachis, fare thee well!"

And so I went; but at the curtain I turned suddenly, and there in the
midst of that lonely lamplit hall I saw a strange sight. Far away, in
such a fashion that the light struck full upon her, stood Charmion, her
head thrown back, her white arms outstretched as though to clasp, and on
her girlish face a stamp of anguished passion so terrible to see that,
indeed, I cannot tell it! For she believed that I, whom she loved, was
passing to my death, and this was her last farewell to me.

But I knew naught of this matter; so with another passing pang of wonder
I drew aside the curtains, gained the doorway, and stood in Cleopatra's
chamber. And there, up