es of
Cleopatra, and came the echo of her whispered love. For not yet was the
cup of sorrow full. Hope still lingered in my heart, and I could almost
think that I had failed to some higher end, and that in the depths of
ruin I should find another and more flowery path to triumph.

For thus those who sin deceive themselves, striving to lay the burden
of their evil deeds upon the back of Fate, striving to believe their
wickedness may compass good, and to murder Conscience with the sharp
plea of Necessity. But it can avail nothing, for hand in hand down the
path of sin rush Remorse and Ruin, and woe to him they follow! Ay, and
woe to me who of all sinners am the chief!

CHAPTER IX

OF THE IMPRISONMENT OF HARMACHIS; OF THE SCORN OF CHARMION; OF THE
SETTING FREE OF HARMACHIS; AND OF THE COMING OF QUINTUS DELLIUS

For a space of eleven days I was thus kept prisoned in my chamber; nor
did I see anyone except the sentries at my doors, the slaves who in
silence brought me food and drink, and Cleopatra's self, who came
continually. But, though her words of love were many, she would tell me
nothing of how things went without. She came in many moods--now gay and
laughing, now full of wise thoughts and speech, and now passionate only,
and to every mood she gave some new-found charm. She was full of talk as
to how I should help her make Egypt great, and lessen the burdens on
the people, and fright the Roman eagles back. And, though at first I
listened heavily when she spoke thus, by slow advance as she wrapped
me closer and yet more close in her magic web, from which there was no
escape, my mind fell in time with hers. Then I, too, opened something
of my heart, and somewhat also of the plans that I had formed for Egypt.
She seemed to listen gladly, weighing them all, and spoke of means
and methods, telling me how she would purify the Faith and repair the
ancient temples--ay, and build new ones to the Gods. And ever she crept
deeper into my heart, till at length, now that every other thing had
gone from me, I learned to love her with all the unspent passion of my
aching soul. I had naught left to me but Cleopatra's love, and I twined
my life about it, and brooded on it as a widow over her only babe. And
thus the very author of my shame became my all, my dearest dear, and
I loved her with a strong love that grew and grew, till it seemed to
swallow up the past and make the present a dream. For she had conquered
me, she had robbe