“Now leave me,” she said, “and sleep if ye may.  I must watch and think, for to-morrow night we go hence, and the time is long since I trod the path that we must follow.”

Accordingly we bowed, and left her.

As we passed to our own apartment I peeped into Job’s sleeping place, to see how he fared, for he had gone away just before our interview with the murdered Ustane, quite prostrated by the terrors of the Amahagger festivity.  He was sleeping soundly, good honest fellow that he was, and I rejoiced to think that his nerves, which, like those of most uneducated people, were far from strong, had been spared the closing scenes of this dreadful day.  Then we entered our own chamber, and here at last poor Leo, who, ever since he had looked upon that frozen image of his living self, had been in a state not far removed from stupefaction, burst out into a torrent of grief.  Now that he was no longer in the presence of the dread She, his sense of the awfulness of all that had happened, and more especially of the wicked murder of Ustane, who was bound to him by ties so close, broke upon him like a storm, and lashed him into an agony of remorse and terror which was painful to witness.  He cursed himself—­he cursed the hour when we had first seen the writing on the sherd, which was being so mysteriously verified, and bitterly he cursed his own weakness.  Ayesha he dared not curse—­who dared speak evil of such a woman, whose consciousness, for aught we knew, was watching us at the very moment?

“What am I to do, old fellow?” he groaned, resting his head against my shoulder in the extremity of his grief.  “I let her be killed—­not that I could help that, but within five minutes I was kissing her murderess over her body.  I am a degraded brute, but I cannot resist that” (and here his voice sank)—­“that awful sorceress.  I know I shall do it again to-morrow; I know that I am in her power for always; if I never saw her again I should never think of anybody else during all my life; I must follow her as a needle follows a magnet; I would not go away now if I could; I could not leave her, my legs would not carry me, but my mind is still clear enough, and in my mind I hate her—­at least, I think so.  It is all so horrible; and that—­that body!  What can I make of it?  It was I!  I am sold into bondage, old fellow, and she will take my soul as the price of herself!”

Then, for the first time, I told him that I was in a but very little better position; and I am bound to say that, notwithstanding his own infatuation, he had the decency to sympathise with me.  Perhaps he did not think it worth while being jealous, realising that he had no cause so far as the lady was concerned.  I went on to suggest that we should try to run away, but we soon rejected the project as futile, and, to be perfectly honest, I do not believe that either of us would really have left Ayesha even if some superior power had suddenly offered to convey us from these gloomy caves and set us down in Cambridge.  We could no more have left her than a moth can leave the light that destroys it.  We were like confirmed opium-eaters:  in our moments of reason we well knew the deadly nature of our pursuit, but we certainly were not prepared to abandon its terrible delights.