I felt it and was afraid, and Atene felt it also, for
she answered--"I am but a woman. What thou art, thou knowest best. Still
a taper cannot shine midst yonder fires or a glow-worm against a fallen
star; nor can my mortal flesh compare with the glory thou hast earned
from hell in payment for thy gifts and homage to the lord of ill. Yet as
woman I am thy equal, and as spirit I shall be thy mistress, when robbed
of these borrowed beauties thou, Ayesha, standest naked and ashamed
before the Judge of all whom thou hast deserted and defied; yes, as thou
stoodest but now upon yonder brink above the burning pit where thou yet
shalt wander wailing thy lost love. For this I know, mine enemy, that
_man and spirit cannot mate_," and Atene ceased, choking in her bitter
rage and jealousy.
Now watching Ayesha, I saw her wince a little beneath these evil-omened
words, saw also a tinge of grey touch the carmine of her lips and her
deep eyes grow dark and troubled. But in a moment her fears had gone and
she was asking in a voice that rang clear as silver bells--"Why ravest
thou, Atene, like some short-lived summer torrent against the barrier
of a seamless cliff? Dost think, poor creature of an hour, to sweep away
the rock of my eternal strength with foam and bursting bubbles? Have
done and listen. I do not seek thy petty rule, who, if I will it, can
take the empire of the world.
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