She took it in her hand and gazed thereon.  “How innocent it seems!” she said; “and yet therein lies my death.  ’Tis strange.”

“Ay, Queen, and the death of ten other folk.  No need to take so long a draught.”

“I fear,” she gasped—­“how know I that it will slay outright?  I have seen so many die by poison and scarce one has died outright.  And some—­ah, I cannot think on them!”

“Fear not,” I said, “I am a master of my craft.  Or, if thou dost fear, cast this poison forth and live.  In Rome thou mayst still find happiness; ay, in Rome, where thou shalt walk in Caesar’s triumph, while the laughter of the hard-eyed Latin women shall chime down the music of thy golden chains.”

“Nay, I will die, Olympus.  Oh, if one would but show the path.”

Then Iras loosed her hand and stepped forward.  “Give me the draught, Physician,” she said.  “I go to make ready for my Queen.”

“It is well,” I answered; “on thy own head be it!” and I poured from the phial into a little golden goblet.

She raised it, curtsied low to Cleopatra, then, coming forward, kissed her on the brow, and Charmion she also kissed.  This done, tarrying not and making no prayer, for Iras was a Greek, she drank, and, putting her hand to her head, instantly fell down and died.

“Thou seest,” I said, breaking in upon the silence, “it is swift.”

“Ay, Olympus; thine is a master drug!  Come now, I thirst; fill me the bowl, lest Iras weary in waiting at the gates!”

So I poured afresh into the goblet; but this time, making pretence to rinse the cup, I mixed a little water with the bane, for I was not minded that she should die before she knew me.

Then did the royal Cleopatra, taking the goblet in her hand, turn her lovely eyes to heaven and cry aloud: 

“O ye Gods of Egypt! who have deserted me, to you no longer will I pray, for your ears are shut unto my crying and your eyes blind to my griefs!  Therefore, I make entreaty of that last friend whom the Gods, departing, leave to helpless man.  Sweep hither, Death, whose winnowing wings enshadow all the world, and give me ear!  Draw nigh, thou King of Kings! who, with an equal hand, bringest the fortunate head of one pillow with the slave, and by thy spiritual breath dost waft the bubble of our life far from this hell of earth!  Hide me where winds blow not and waters cease to roll; where wars are done and Caesar’s legions cannot march!  Take me to a new dominion, and crown me Queen of Peace!  Thou art my Lord, O Death, and in thy kiss I have conceived.  I am in labour of a Soul:  see—­it stands new-born upon the edge of Time!  Now—­now—­go, Life!  Come, Sleep!  Come, Antony!”

And, with one glance to heaven, she drank, and cast the goblet to the ground.

Then at last came the moment of my pent-up vengeance, and of the vengeance of Egypt’s outraged Gods, and of the falling of the curse of Menkau-ra.