the world, asleep?" she whispered;
"if so, follow me. Nay, fear not; when she awakes she will but laugh,
for she bade me be sure to bring thee instantly, whether she slept or
woke. See, I have her signet."

So we passed up the beautiful chamber till we came to where the eunuchs
stood with drawn swords, and these would have barred my entry. But
Charmion frowned, and drawing the signet from her bosom held it before
their eyes. Having examined the writing that was on the ring, they
bowed, dropping their sword points and we passed through the heavy
curtains broidered with gold into the resting-place of Cleopatra. It was
beautiful beyond imagining--beautiful with many coloured marbles, with
gold and ivory, gems and flowers--all art can furnish and all luxury
can dream of were here. Here were pictures so real that birds might
have pecked the painted fruits; here were statues of woman's loveliness
frozen into stone; here were draperies fine as softest silk, but woven
of a web of gold; here were couches and carpets such as I never saw. The
air, too, was sweet with perfume, while through the open window places
came the far murmur of the sea. And at the further end of the chamber,
on a couch of gleaming silk and sheltered by a net of finest gauze,
Cleopatra lay asleep. There she lay--the fairest thing that man ever
saw--fairer than a dream, and the web of her dark hair flowed all about
her. One white, rounded arm made a pillow for her head, and one hung
down towards the ground. Her rich lips were parted in a smile, showing
the ivory lines of teeth; and her rosy limbs were draped in so thin a
robe of the silk of Cos, held about her by a jewelled girdle, that the
white gleam of flesh shone through it. I stood astonished, and though
my thoughts had little bent that way, the sight of her beauty struck me
like a blow, so that for a moment I lost myself as it were in the vision
of its power, and was grieved at heart because I must slay so fair a
thing.

Turning suddenly from the sight, I found Charmion watching me with her
quick eyes--watching as though she would search my heart. And, indeed,
something of my thought must have been written on my face in a language
that she could read, for she whispered in my ear:

"Ay, it is pity, is it not? Harmachis, being but a man, methinks that
thou wilt need all thy ghostly strength to nerve thee to the deed!"

I frowned, but before I could frame an answer she touched me lightly on
the arm and