"But he did not come.

"I sent Charmian up again. Antony had been unable to continue the
conflict when parted from me. Now he sat in front of the cabin with his
head resting on his hands, staring at the planks of the deck like one
distraught. He, he--Antony! The bravest horseman, the terror of the
foe, let his arms fall like a shepherd-boy whose sheep are stolen by the
wolves. Mark Antony, the hero who had braved a thousand dangers, had
flung down his sword. Why, why? Because a woman had yielded to idle
fears, obeyed the yearning of a mother's heart, and fled? Of all human
weaknesses, not one had been more alien than cowardice to the man whose
recklessness had led him to many an unprecedented venture. And now? No,
a thousand times no! Fire and water would unite sooner than Mark Antony
and cowardice! He had been under the coercive power of a demon; a
mysterious spell had forced him--"

"The mightiest power, love," interrupted Iras with enthusiastic warmth--
"a love as great and overmastering as ever subjugated the soul of man."

"Ay, love," repeated Cleopatra, in a hollow tone. Then her lips curled
with a faint tinge of derision, and her voice expressed the very
bitterness of doubt, as she continued: "Had it been merely the love which
makes two mortals one, transfers the heart of one to the other, it might
perchance have borne my timorous soul into the hero's breast! But no.
Violent tempests had raged before the battle. It had not been possible
always to appear before him in the guise in which we would fain be seen
by those whom we love.

"Even now, when your skilful hands have served me--there is the mirror--