“Ay,” she answered, in a voice thick with grief. “Ay, O Queen, so the physicians say. Forty hours has he lain in stupor so deep that at times his breath could barely lift this tiny feather’s weight, and hardly could my ear, placed against his breast, take notice of the rising of his heart. I have watched him now for ten long days, watched him day and night, till my eyes stare wide with want of sleep, and for faintness I can scarce keep myself from falling. And this is the end of all my labour! The coward blow of that accursed Brennus has done its work, and Harmachis dies!” “Love counts not its labour, Charmion, nor can it weight its tenderness on the scale of purchase. That which it has it gives, and craves for more to give and give, till the soul’s infinity be drained. Dear to thy heart are these heavy nights of watching; sweet to thy weary eyes is that sad sight of strength brought so low that it hangs upon thy weakness like a babe to its mother’s breast! For, Charmion, thou dost love this man who loves thee not, and now that he is helpless thou canst pour thy passion forth over the unanswering darkness of his soul, and cheat thyself with dreams of what yet might be.” “I love him not, as thou hast proof, O Queen! How can I love one who would have slain thee, who art as my heart’s sister? It is for pity that I nurse him.” She laughed a little as she answered, “Pity is love’s own twin, Charmion. Wondrous wayward are the paths of woman’s love, and thou hast shown thine strangely, that I know. But the more high the love, the deeper the gulf whereinto it can fall--ay, and thence soar again to heaven, once more to fall! Poor woman! thou art thy passion’s plaything: now tender as the morning sky, and now, when jealousy grips thy heart, more cruel than the sea. Well, thus are we made. Soon, after all this troubling, nothing will be left thee but tears, remorse, and--memory.” And she went forth. CHAPTER XIV OF THE TENDER CARE OF CHARMION; OF THE HEALING OF HARMACHIS; OF THE SAILING OF THE FLEET OF CLEOPATRA FOR CILICIA; AND OF THE SPEECH OF BRENNUS TO HARMACHIS Cleopatra went, and for a while I lay silent, gathering up my strength to speak. But Charmion came and stood over me, and I felt a great tear fall from her dark eyes upon my face, as the first heavy drop of rain falls from a thunder cloud. “Thou goest,” she whispered; “thou goest fast whither I may not follow! O Harmachis, how gladly would I give my life for thine!” Then at length I opened my eyes, and spoke as best I could: “Restrain thy grief, dear friend,” I said, “I live yet; and, in truth, I feel as though new life gathered in my breast!”