"Fear thee!"--and stung to a sudden heat Theos made one bound to
her side and seizing her slim wrists, held them in a vise-like
grip--"So little do I fear thee, Lysia, so well do I know thee,
that in my very caresses I would slay thee, couldst thou thus be
slain! Thou art to me the living presence of an unforgotten Sin,--
a sin most deadly sweet and unrepented of, . . ah! why dost thou
tempt me!"--and he bent over her more ardently--"must I not meet
my death at thy hands? I must,--and more than death!--yet for thy
kiss I will risk hell,--for one embrace of thine I will brave
perdition! Ah, cruel enchantress!"--and winding his arms about
her, he drew her close against his breast and looked down on the
dreamy fairness of her face,--"Would there WERE such a thing as
Death for souls like mine and thine! Would we might die most
absolutely thus, heart against heart, never to wake again and
loathe eathtypo or archaism? other! Who speaks of the cool
sweetness of the grave,--the quiet ending of all strife,--the
unbreaking seal of Fate, the deep and stirless rest? ... These
things are not, and never were, . . for the grave gives up its
dead,--the strife is forever and ever resumed,--the seal is
broken, and in all the laboring Universe there shall be found no
rest, and no forgetfulness, . . ah, God! ... no forgetfulness!" A
shudder ran through his frame,--and clasping her almost roughly,
he stooped toward her till his lips nearly touched hers, . . "Thou
art accursed, Lysia,--and I share thy curse! Speak--how shall we
cheer each other in the shadow-realm of fiends? Thou shall be
Queen there, and I thy servitor,--we will make us merry with the
griefs of others,--our music shall be the dropping of lost women's
tears, and the groans of betrayed and tortured men,--and the light
around us shall be quenchless fire! Shall it not be so, Lysia? ...
and thinkest thou that we shall ever regret the loss of Heaven?"