Cleopatra · Book II · Chapter 2 16 (2/2)

“I swear, Harmachis!⁠—I swear! May everlasting torments, too hideous to be dreamed⁠—more hideous, even, by far, than those that wring me now⁠—be my portion if I fail thee in one jot or tittle⁠—ay, though I wait a lifetime for thy word!”

“It is well; see that thou keep the oath⁠—not twice may we betray. I go to work out my fate; abide thou to work out thine. Perchance our divers threads will once more mingle ere the web be spun. Charmion, who unasked didst love me⁠—and who, prompted by that gentle love of thine, didst betray and ruin me⁠—fare thee well!”

She gazed wildly upon my face⁠—she stretched out her arms as though to clasp me; then, in the agony of her despair, she cast herself at length and grovelled upon the ground.

I took up the sack of clothing and the staff and gained the door, and, as I passed it, I threw one last glance upon her. There she lay, with arms outstretched⁠—more white than her white robes⁠—her dark hair streaming about her, and her fair brows hidden in the dust.

And thus I left her, nor did I again set my eyes upon her till nine long years had come and gone.

[Here ends the second and largest roll of papyrus.]