Elissa’s heart beat fast. The memory of her own love, Maharbal, came to her mind. This man, this Scipio, told upon her strangely, yet could she not forget Maharbal. She remained silent, gazing over the sea and nervously twisting her fingers together.
“Canst thou not love me?” Scipio asked, as he rose and confronted her, capturing and holding her not altogether unyielding fingers in his own strong grasp. “Look out, dear one, over the seas; all those seas may be ours. Watch those far distant headlands. They now belong to Carthage, ’tis true, but they will, should thou not accede unto my prayer, most undoubtedly one day belong to Rome. Yet, give me but thy love, thy hand, and together, thou and I, will conquer and rule the world, and Rome and Carthage will be one alone.”
Bending low, he kissed her hands with gentle kisses, stealing all along from finger-tips to wrist. Still she remained silent, lost in deepest thought. For she was thinking of her country and her past.
After a period of thought she suddenly threw his hands from her.
“And Maharbal?” she exclaimed, “what share is he to have in this ruling of the world?”
The young Roman had not expected this.
“Maharbal!” he answered scornfully, “what share can such a one as Maharbal have in the universal dominion that I propose to thee shouldst thou but unite thy lot with mine? Maharbal, if he be not already dead, can still continue his career as a bold cavalry leader; but what can he do for the world save send many men out of it before their time? ’Tis out of place, methinks, to talk of Maharbal when the future of nations is at stake, and all dependeth but on thee and me.”
Elissa sprung to her feet in turn, and looked Scipio straight in the eyes.
Laughing half scornfully, “Listen unto me,” she said, “oh Scipio. Thou art but a boy for all thine exploits, and art carried away partly by thine enthusiasm and partly by thy love of me, for which, believe me, I am truly grateful, for thou art indeed one worthy to be loved. Yet listen, thou art dreaming a dream which is impossible of completion. Thy union with me could never carry with it the weight that thou dost imagine. I, being Hannibal’s daughter, should be hated by Rome. Thy marriage would not be recognised; I should soon be reduced to the position of thy mere mistress. Rome and Carthage together would never conquer the world, for the sole object of each is to conquer the other, and thus the old racial hatred would never permit it. Could I for one instant believe that it could be so, I would, for my country’s sake, and even in the interest of all humanity, throw over mine allegiance to Maharbal and give myself unto thee now. But I see it is but a dream, and, therefore, were there even no Maharbal in existence—although my heart tells me that I should love thee and love thee dearly—yet would I not give myself unto thee. Nay! it may not be; my natural intelligence persuades me that party feeling in Rome and Carthage, and mine own father’s hatred of Rome, would never allow this glorious union between the two countries which thou hast most patriotically imagined. Therefore, Scipio, leave thou me for ever, for I can never be thine. Things being thus, I only belong to one man living, and to him I will be true.”
Scipio stamped his foot with rage.