Listen then, my love and lord, to the burden of the Song of Fate.
She ceased speaking and gazed heavenwards with a rapt look as though she waited for some inspiration to fall upon her, and never, never—not even in the fires of Kôr had Ayesha seemed so divine as she did now in this moment of the ripe harvest of her love.
My eyes wandered from her to Leo, who stood before her pale and still, still as the death-like figure of the Shaman, still as the Khania's icy shape which stared upwards from the ground. What was passing in his mind, I wondered, that he could remain thus insensible while in all her might and awful beauty this proud being worshipped him.
Hark! she began to sing in a voice so rich and perfect that its honied notes seemed to cloy my blood and stop my breath.
The world was not, was not, and in the womb of Silence
Slept the souls of men.
Yet I was and thou—
Suddenly Ayesha stopped, and I felt rather than saw the horror on her face.
Look! Leo swayed to and fro as though the stones beneath him were but a rocking boat. To and fro he swayed, stretched out his blind arms to clasp her—then suddenly fell backwards, and lay still.
Oh! what a shriek was that she gave! Surely it must have wakened the very corpses upon the plain. Surely it must have echoed in the stars. One shriek only—then throbbing silence.
I sprang to him, and there, withered in Ayesha's kiss, slain by the fire of her love, Leo lay dead—lay dead upon the breast of dead Atene!
