d him to the Queen
as the person most worthy of her confidence, and more keenly felt the
wrong which, as the tool and obedient friend of Octavianus, he had
inflicted upon the hapless woman. The memory of his unworthy deed, which
history would chronicle, had robbed the sensitive man, the author and
patron of budding Roman poetry, of many an hour's sleep, and therefore
he also now laboured zealously to oblige the Queen and mitigate her hard
fate. He, like the freedman Epaphroditus, who by Caesar's orders watched
carefully to prevent any attempt upon her life, seemed to base great
hopes on such an interview, and endeavoured to persuade her to request
an audience from the Caesar.

Archibius said that, even in the worst case, it could not render the
present state of affairs darker. Experience, he said to Charmian, proved
that no man of any feeling could wholly resist the charm of her nature,
and to him at least she had never seemed more winning than now. Who
could have gazed unmoved into the beautiful face, so eloquent in its
silent suffering, whose soul would not have been deeply touched by the
sorrowful tones of her sweet voice? Besides, her sable mourning robes
were so well suited to the slight tinge of melancholy which pervaded her
whole aspect. When the fever flushed her cheeks, Archibius, spite of the
ravages which grief, anxiety, and fear had made upon her charms, thought
that he had never seen her look more beautiful. He knew her thoroughly,
and was aware that her desire to follow the man she loved into the realm
of death was sincere; nay, that it dominated her whole being. She clung
to life only to die as soon as possible. The decision which, after
her resolve to build the monument, she had recognized in the temple of
Berenike as the right one, had become the rule of conduct of her life.
Every thought, every conversation, led her back to the past. The future
seemed to exist no longer. If Archibius succeeded in directing her
thoughts to approaching days she occupied herself wholly with her
children's fate. For herself she expected nothing, felt absolved from
every duty except the one of protecting herself and her name from
dishonour and humiliation.

The fact that Octavianus, when he doomed Caesarion to death, permitted
the other children to return to her with the assurance that no harm
should befall them, proved that he made a distinction between them and
his uncle's son, and had no fears that they threatened his o