he woes of Cleopatra. He bade me warn her--for,
as her physician, it was allowed me to pass in and out of the tomb where
she dwelt--that in three days she would be sent away to Rome, together
with her children, save Caesarion, whom Octavian had already slain, that
she might walk in the triumph of Caesar. Accordingly I went in, and found
her sitting, as now she always sat, plunged in a half stupor, and before
her that blood-stained robe with which she had staunched the wounds of
Antony. For on this she would continually feast her eyes.

"See how faint they grow, Olympus," she said, lifting her sad face and
pointing to the rusty stains, "and he so lately dead! Why, Gratitude
could not fade more fast. What is now thy news? Evil tidings is writ
large in those dark eyes of thine, which ever bring back to me something
that still slips my mind."

"The news is ill, O Queen," I answered. "I have this from the lips of
Dolabella, who has it straight from Caesar's secretary. On the third day
from now Caesar will send thee and the Princes Ptolemy and Alexander and
the Princess Cleopatra to Rome, there to feast the eyes of the Roman
mob, and be led in triumph to that Capitol where thou didst swear to set
thy throne!"

"Never, never!" she cried, springing to her feet. "Never will I walk in
chains in Caesar's triumph! What must I do? Charmion, tell me what I can
do!"

And Charmion, rising, stood before her, looking at her through the long
lashes of her downcast eyes.

"Lady, thou canst die," she said quietly.

"Ay, of a truth I had forgotten; I can die. Olympus, hast thou the
drug?"

"Nay; but if the Queen wills it, by to-morrow morn it shall be brewed--a
drug so swift and strong that not the Gods themselves can hold him who
drinks it back from sleep."

"Let it be made ready, thou Master of Death!"

I bowed, and withdrew myself; and all that night I and old Atoua
laboured at the distilling of the deadly draught. At length it was done,
and Atoua poured it into a crystal phial, and held it to the light of
the fire; for it was white as the purest water.

"_La! la!_" she sang, in her shrill voice; "a drink for a Queen! When
fifty drops of that water of my brewing have passed those red lips of
hers, thou wilt indeed be avenged of Cleopatra, O Harmachis! Ah, that
I could be there to see thy Ruin ruined! _La! la!_ it would be sweet to
see!"

"Vengeance is an arrow that oft-times falls upon the archer's head," I
answered, bethin