him? What could I wish but to make him
happy? I was rich enough, praised, and petted;.... and then he came,....
glorious as he is, like a god among men--among apes rather--and I
worshipped him: was I wrong in that? I gave up all for him: was I wrong
in that? I gave him myself: what could I do more? He condescended to
like me--he the hero! Could I help submitting? I loved him: could I help
loving him? Did I wrong him in that? Cruel, cruel Wulf!....'

Wulf was forced to be stern, or he would have melted at once.

'And what was your love worth to him? What has it done for him? It has
made him a sot, an idler, a laughing-stock to these Greek dogs, when he
might have been their conqueror, their king. Foolish woman, who cannot
see that your love has been his bane, his ruin! He, who ought by now
to have been sitting upon the throne of the Ptolemies, the lord of all
south of the Mediterranean--as he shall be still!'

Pelagia looked tip at him wide-eyed, as if her mind was taking in slowly
some vast new thought, under the weight of which it reeled already. Then
she rose slowly.

'And he might be Emperor of Africa.'

'And he shall be; but not--'

'Not with me!' she almost shrieked. 'No! not with wretched, ignorant,
polluted me! I see--oh God, I see it all! And this is why you want him
to marry her--her--'

She could not utter the dreaded name.

Wulf could not trust himself to speak; but he bowed his head in
acquiescence. ...............

'Yes--I will go--up into the desert--with Philammon--and you shall never
hear of me again. And I will be a nun, and pray for him, that he may be
a great king, and conquer all the world. You will tell him why I went
away, will you not? Yes, I will go,--now, at once--'

She turned away hurriedly, as if to act upon her promise, and then she
sprang again to Wulf with a sudden shudder.

'I cannot, Wulf!--I cannot leave him! I shall go mad if I do! Do not
be angry;--I will promise anything--take any oath you like, if you will
only let me stay here. Only as a slave--as anything--if I may but look
at him sometimes. No--not even that--but to be tinder the same roof with
him, only--Oh, let me be but a slave in the kitchen! I will make over
all I have to him--to you--to any one! And you shall tell him that I am
gone--dead, if you will.--Only let me stay! And I will wear rags, and
grind in the mill.... Even that will be delicious, to know that he
is eating the bread which I have made! And if I