is: a face shrunken and pallid, on which no smile came;
great eyes grown wan with gazing into darkness looking out beneath
the shaven head, emptily, as the hollow eye-pits of a skull; a wizened
halting form wasted by abstinence, sorrow, and prayer; a long wild beard
of iron grey; thin blue-veined hands that ever trembled like a leaf;
bowed shoulders and lessened limbs. Time and grief had done their
work indeed; scarce could I think myself the same as when, the royal
Harmachis--in all the splendour of my strength and youthful beauty--I
first had looked upon the woman's loveliness that did destroy me. And
yet within me burned the same fire as of yore; yet I was not changed,
for time and grief have no power to alter the immortal spirit of man.
Seasons may come and go; Hope, like a bird, may fly away; Passion may
break its wings against the iron bars of Fate; Illusions may crumble
as the cloudy towers of sunset flame; Faith, as running water, may slip
from beneath our feet; Solitude may stretch itself around us like the
measureless desert sand; Old Age may creep as the gathering night over
our bowed heads grown hoary in their shame--yea, bound to Fortune's
wheel, we may taste of every turn of chance--now rule as Kings, now
serve as Slaves; now love, now hate; now prosper, and now perish. But
still, through all, we are the same; for this is the marvel of Identity.

And as I sat and thought these things in bitterness of heart, there came
a knocking at the door.

"Open, Atoua!" I said.

She rose and did my bidding; and a woman entered, clad in Grecian robes.
It was Charmion, still beautiful as of old, but sad faced now and very
sweet to see, with a patient fire slumbering in her downcast eyes.

She entered unattended; and, speaking no word, the old wife pointed to
where I sat, and went.

"Old man," she said, addressing me, "lead me to the learned Olympus. I
come upon the Queen's business."

I rose, and, lifting my head, looked upon her.

She gazed, and gave a little cry.

"Surely," she whispered, glancing round, "surely thou art not that----"
And she paused.

"That Harmachis whom once thy foolish heart did love, O Charmion? Yes,
I am he and what thou seest, most fair lady. Yet is Harmachis dead
whom thou didst love; but Olympus, the skilled Egyptian, waits upon thy
words!"

"Cease!" she said, "and of the past but one word, and then--why, let
it lie. Not well, with all thy wisdom, canst thou know a true woman's