“This,” he answered.  “The close and pernicious enthralment of a woman I never met till the night before last; a woman whose face haunts me; a woman who drags me to her side with the force of a magnet, there to grovel like a brain-sick fool and plead with her for a love which I already know is poison to my soul!  Helen, Helen!  You do not understand—­you will never understand!  Here, in the very air I breathe, I fancy I can trace the perfume she shakes from her garments as she moves; something indescribably fascinating yet terrible attracts me to her; it is an evil attraction, I know, but I cannot resist it.  There is something wicked in every man’s nature; I am conscious enough that there is something detestably wicked in mine, and I have not sufficient goodness to overbalance it.  And this woman,—­this silent, gliding, glittering-eyed creature that has suddenly taken possession of my fancy—­she overcomes me in spite of myself; she makes havoc of all the good intentions of my life.  I admit it—­I confess it!”

“You are speaking of the Princess Ziska?” asked Helen, tremblingly.

“Of whom else should I speak?” he responded, dreamily.  “There is no one like her; probably there never was anyone like her, except, perhaps, Ziska-Charmazel!”

As the name passed his lips, he sprang hastily up and stood amazed, as though some sudden voice had called him.  Helen Murray looked at him in alarm.

“Oh, what is it?” she exclaimed.

He forced a laugh.

“Nothing—­nothing—­but a madness!  I suppose it is all a part of my strange malady.  Your brother is stricken with the same fever.  Surely you know that?”

“Indeed I do know it,” Helen answered, “to my sorrow!”

He regarded her intently.  Her face in its pure outline and quiet sadness of expression touched him more than he cared to own even to himself.

“My dear Helen,” he said, with an effort at composure, “I have been talking wildly; you must forgive me!  Don’t think about me at all; I am not worth it!  Denzil has taken it into his head to quarrel with me on account of the Princess Ziska, but I assure you I will not quarrel with him.  He is infatuated, and so am I. The best thing for all of us to do would be to leave Egypt instantly; I feel that instinctively, only we cannot do it.  Something holds us here.  You will never persuade Denzil to go, and I—­I cannot persuade myself to go.  There is a clinging sweetness in the air for me; and there are vague suggestions, memories, dreams, histories—­wonderful things which hold me spell-bound!  I wish I could analyze them, recognize them, or understand them.  But I cannot, and there, perhaps, is their secret charm.  Only one thing grieves me, and that is, that I have, perhaps, unwittingly, in some thoughtless way, given you pain; is it so, Helen?”

She rose quickly, and with a quiet dignity held out her hand.