a part of the choice household gear of one of Septimius's ancestors, and
was engraved with his arms, artistically done.

"Is that the drink of immortality?" said Sibyl.

"Yes, Sibyl," said Septimius. "Do but touch the goblet; see how cold it
is."

She put her slender, pallid fingers on the side of the goblet, and
shuddered, just as Septimius did when he touched her hand.

"Why should it be so cold?" said she, looking at Septimius.

"Nay, I know not, unless because endless life goes round the circle and
meets death, and is just the same with it. O Sibyl, it is a fearful thing
that I have accomplished! Do you not feel it so? What if this shiver
should last us through eternity?"

"Have you pursued this object so long," said Sibyl, "to have these fears
respecting it now? In that case, methinks I could be bold enough to drink
it alone, and look down upon you, as I did so, smiling at your fear to
take the life offered you."

"I do not fear," said Septimius; "but yet I acknowledge there is a strange,
powerful abhorrence in me towards this draught, which I know not how to
account for, except as the reaction, the revulsion of feeling, consequent
upon its being too long overstrained in one direction. I cannot help it.
The meannesses, the littlenesses, the perplexities, the general
irksomeness of life, weigh upon me strangely. Thou didst refuse to drink
with me. That being the case, methinks I could break the jewelled goblet