He agreed and put the cup to his lips.
With a quick motion she restrained him.
"Stop! See how silly your suspicions are. If I had any of the horrible intentions that you credit me with there are countless ways for me to carry them out. That flower was saturated with poison!"
Embarrassed, and not daring to meet her eyes, Antony fell at his mistress's feet. Would she forgive him? The little time he had left to live was not long enough to expiate the crime of which he had been guilty.
He prophesied better than he knew. There was only one day between him and the one when all would be settled. In that day, at least, he would accomplish wonders. It was the lion reawakening. The brilliancy of his warrior instinct would blaze out for the last time and show that, left to his own genius, he would have been a mighty hero.
The enemy's army was only a few furlongs from Alexandria. A hostile populace, on the point of treason, was not eager to defend it. The Imperator got some troops together, those who had been faithful to him through everything, and by a surprise attack, which there was no time to return, he fell on the cavalry of Octavius. Routed, pursued, the latter crossed the Nile in disorder and went back to the old intrenchments. For that day, at least, Alexandria was saved.
Drunk with a happiness that he had despaired of ever feeling again, Antony cried, "Victory, Victory," continually. Yes, for a last farewell Victory had come again and placed a crown on the forehead of the master who had won it so many times in vain. The old passionate love flamed in Cleopatra's heart, and her Antony was the magnificent, intrepid hero of former days. Seeing him in the distance, surrounded by banners, she left her window and ran down to welcome him.
In a transport of joy he leaped off his horse to press her to him, and these two, whom adversity had divided, were united again in the glory which was their native element. In the delight of being together all their past grief and bitterness were forgotten.
There was great rejoicing that evening in the old palace of the Lagidæ. The bravest soldier had a shower of gold. One of them was honoured by an antique golden armour, with the sparrow-hawk of the Ptolemys. The citterns and pipes resounded and the national songs were sung. It seemed like a revival of the days when the Imperator was distributing kingdoms.
Feeling that the hours were few and precious, the lovers grudged wasting any in sleep. It was a clear, mild night, when the soul is conscious of its own insignificance under the overwhelming vastness of the Oriental heavens. They wandered about the gardens until they reached the farther end, the place where Cleopatra had watched Antony disappear in the distance at their first parting. The rhythmic swell of the waters against the parapet sounded like their own heart-beats. To the right, the seven-storied beacon seemed to defy the stars; and above shone the crescent moon, whose silver reflections were like scattered petals in the sea.