She
from out of the mouths of starving babes. It is the scheme of
things. Thou sayest, too, that a crime breeds evil, but therein
thou dost lack experience; for out of crimes come many good
things, and out of good grows much evil. The cruel rage of the
tyrant may prove a blessing to the thousands who come after him,
and the sweetheartedness of a holy man may make a nation slaves.
Man doeth this, and doeth that from the good or evil of his
heart; but he knoweth not to what end his moral sense doth prompt
him; for when he striketh he is blind to where the blow shall
fall, nor can he count the airy threads that weave the web of
circumstance. Good and evil, love and hate, night and day, sweet
and bitter, man and woman, heaven above and the earth beneath—all
these things are necessary, one to the other, and who knows the
end of each? I tell thee that there is a hand of fate that twines
them up to bear the burden of its purpose, and all things are
gathered in that great rope to which all things are needful.
Therefore doth it not become us to say this thing is evil and
this good, or the dark is hateful and the light lovely; for to
other eyes than ours the evil may be the good and the darkness
more beautiful than the day, or all alike be fair. Hearest thou,
my Holly?”
I felt it was hopeless to argue against casuistry of this nature,
which, if it were carried to its logical conclusion, would
absolutely destroy all morality, as we understand it. But her
talk gave me a fresh thrill of fear; for what may not be possible
to a being who, unconstrained by human law, is also absolutely
unshackled by a moral sense of right and wrong, which, however
partial and conventional it may be, is yet based, as our
conscience tells us, upon the great wall of individual
responsibility that marks off mankind from the beasts?
But I was deeply anxious to save Ustane, whom I liked and
respected, from the dire fate that overshadowed her at the hands
of her mighty rival. So I made one more appeal.
“Ayesha,” I said, “thou art too subtle for me; but thou thyself
hast told me that each man should be a law unto himself, and
follow the teaching of his heart. Hath thy heart no mercy towards
her whose place thou wouldst take? Bethink thee—as thou
sayest—though to me the thing is incredible—he whom thou desirest
has returned to thee after many ages, and but now thou hast, as
thou sayest also, wrung him from the jaws of death. Wilt thou
celebrate his coming by the murder of one who loved him, and whom
perchance he loved—one, at the least, who saved his life for thee
when the spears of thy slaves would have made an end thereof?
Thou sayest also that in past days thou didst grievously wrong
this man, that with thine own hand thou didst slay him because of
the Egyptian Amenartas whom he loved.”
“How knowest thou that, oh stranger? How knowest thou that name?
I spoke it not to thee,” she broke in with a cry, catching at my
arm.
“Perchance I dreamed it,” I answered; “strange dreams do hover
about these caves of Kôr. It seems that the dream was, indeed, a
shadow of the truth. What came to thee of thy mad crime?—two
thousand years of waiting, was it not? And now wouldst thou
repeat the history? Say what thou wilt, I tell thee that evil
will come of it; for to him who doeth, at the least, good breeds
good and evil evil, even though in after days out of evil cometh
good. Offences must needs come; but woe to him by whom the
offence cometh. So said that Messiah of whom I spoke to thee, and
it was truly said. If thou slayest this innocent woman, I say
unto thee that thou shalt be accursed, and pluck no fruit from
thine ancient tree of love. Also, what thinkest thou? How will
this man take thee red-handed from the slaughter of her who loved
and tended him?”
“As to that,” she answered, “I have already answered thee. Had I
slain thee as well as her, yet should he love me, Holly, because
he could not save himself therefrom any more than thou couldst
save thyself from dying, if by chance I slew thee, oh Holly. And
yet maybe there is truth in what thou dost say; for in some way
it presseth on my mind. If it may be, I will spare this woman;
for have I not told thee that I am not cruel for the sake of
cruelty? I love not to see suffering, or to cause it. Let her
come before me—quick now, before my mood changes,” and she
hastily covered her face with its gauzy wrapping.
Well pleased to have succeeded even to this extent, I passed out
into the passage and called to Ustane, whose white garment I
caught sight of some yards away, huddled up against one of the
earthenware lamps that were placed at intervals along the tunnel.
She rose, and ran towards me.
“Is my lord dead? Oh, say not he is dead,” she cried, lifting her
noble-looking face, all stained as it was with tears, up to me
with an air of infinite beseeching that went straight to my
heart.
“Nay, he lives,” I answered. “_She_ hath saved him. Enter.”
She sighed deeply, entered, and fell upon her hands and knees,
after the custom of the Amahagger people, in the presence of the
dread _She_.
“Stand,” said Ayesha, in her coldest voice, “and come hither.”
Ustane obeyed, standing before her with bowed head.
Then came a pause, which Ayesha broke.
“Who is this man?” she said, pointing to the sleeping form of
Leo.
“The man is my husband,” she answered in a low voice.
“Who gave him to thee for a husband?”
“I took him according to the custom of our country, oh _She_.”
“Thou hast done evil, woman, in taking this man, who is a
stranger. He is not a man of thine own race, and the custom
fails. Listen: perchance thou didst this thing through ignorance,
therefore, woman, do I spare thee, otherwise hadst thou died.
Listen again. Go from hence back to thine own place, and never
dare to speak to or set thine eyes upon this man again. He is not
for thee. Listen a third time. If thou breakest this my law, that
moment thou diest. Go.”
But Ustane did not move.
“Go, woman!”
Then she looked up, and I saw that her face was torn with
passion.
“Nay, oh _She_. I will not go,” she answered in a choked voice:
“the man is my husband, and I love him—I love him, and I will not
leave him. What right hast thou to command me to leave my
husband?”
I saw a little quiver pass down Ayesha’s frame, and shuddered
myself, fearing the worst.
“Be pitiful,” I said in Latin; “it is but Nature working.”
“I am pitiful,” she answered coldly in the same language; “had I
not been pitiful she had been dead even now.” Then, addressing
Ustane: “Woman, I say to thee, go before I destroy thee where
thou art!”
“I will not go! He is mine—mine!” she cried in anguish. “I took
him, and I saved his life! Destroy me, then, if thou hast the
power! I will not give thee my husband—never—never!”
Ayesha made a movement so swift that I could scarcely follow it,
but it seemed to me that she lightly struck the poor girl upon
the head with her hand. I looked at Ustane, and then staggered
back in horror, for there upon her hair, right across her
bronze-like tresses, were three finger-marks _white as snow_. As
for the girl herself, she had put her hands to her head, and was
looking dazed.
“Great heavens!” I said, perfectly aghast at this dreadful
manifestation of human power; but _She_ did but laugh a little.
“Thou thinkest, poor ignorant fool,” she said to the bewildered
woman, “that I have not the power to slay. Stay, there lies a
mirror,” and she pointed to Leo’s round shaving-glass that had
been arranged by Job with other things upon his portmanteau;
“give it to this woman, my Holly, and let her see that which lies
across her hair, and whether or no I have power to slay.”
I picked up the glass, and held it before Ustane’s eyes. She
gazed, then felt at her hair, then gazed again, and then sank
upon the ground with a sort of sob.
“Now, wilt thou go, or must I strike a second time?” asked
Ayesha, in mockery. “Look, I have set my seal upon thee so that I
may know thee till thy hair is all as white as it. If I see thy
face again, be sure, too, that thy bones shall soon be whiter
than my mark upon thy hair.”
Utterly awed and broken down, the poor creature rose, and, marked
with that awful mark, crept from the room, sobbing bitterly.
“Look not so frighted, my Holly,” said Ayesha, when she had gone.
“I tell thee I deal not in magic—there is no such thing. ‘Tis
only a force that thou dost not understand. I marked her to
strike terror to her heart, else must I have slain her. And now I
will bid my servants to bear my Lord Kallikrates to a chamber
near mine own, that I may watch over him, and be ready to greet
him when he wakes; and thither, too, shalt thou come, my Holly,
and the white man, thy servant. But one thing remember at thy
peril. Naught shalt thou say to Kallikrates as to how this woman
went, and as little as may be of me. Now, I have warned thee!”
and she slid away to give her orders, leaving me more absolutely
confounded than ever. Indeed, so bewildered was I, and racked and
torn with such a succession of various emotions, that I began to
think that I must be going mad. However, perhaps fortunately, I
had but little time to reflect, for presently the mutes arrived
to carry the sleeping Leo and our possessions across the central
cave, so for a while all was bustle. Our new rooms were situated
immediately behind what we used to call Ayesha’s boudoir—the
curtained space where I had first seen her. Where she herself
slept I did not then know, but it was somewhere quite close.
That night I passed in Leo’s room, but he slept through it like
the dead, never once stirring. I also slept fairly well, as,
indeed, I needed to do, but my sleep was full of dreams of all
the horrors and wonders I had undergone. Chiefly, however, I was
haunted by that frightful piece of _diablerie_ by which Ayesha
left her finger-marks upon her rival’s hair. There was something
so terrible about her swift, snake-like movement, and the
instantaneous blanching of that threefold line, that, if the
results to Ustane had been much more tremendous, I doubt if they
would have impressed me so deeply. To this day I often dream of
that awful scene, and see the weeping woman, bereaved, and marked
like Cain, cast a last look at her lover, and creep from the
presence of her dread Queen.
Another dream that troubled me originated in the huge pyramid of
bones. I dreamed that they all stood up and marched past me in
thousands and tens of thousands—in squadrons, companies, and
armies—with the sunlight shining through their hollow ribs. On
they rushed across the plain to Kôr, their imperial home; I saw
the drawbridges fall before them, and heard their bones clank