Bravely she cursed and long, calling down upon my head every evil that can be found in heaven above or earth beneath; she who did not know that this was needless, for already the winged Furies had made it their resting-place and before they could be uttered all her imprecations were fulfilled.
“Have done!” I said when at length she grew weak and weary, “and let us summon Philo to help us bear this noble clay to some fitting sepulchre.”
“Nay, Witch,” she answered, “use your magic on me also, if you can. Slay the wife as you have slain the husband, and here let us rest eternally. What tomb can be better for both of us than that which saw our murder.”
“Have done!” I repeated. “You know well that I have no desire to kill you and that it was my madness, not my will, that brought doom on Kallikrates, whom we loved; I who had not learned that henceforth my spirit is a bow winged with deadly shafts.”
I went down the cave and through the passage that lay beyond and from its mouth called to Philo to follow me.
He came, and perceiving my new loveliness as I stood awaiting him in the rosy light, fell to the ground, kissing my feet and the hem of my robe, and muttering,
“O Isis-come-to-Earth! O Queen divine!”
“Rise up and follow me,” I said, and led him to where lay Kallikrates, by whom knelt the widowed Amenartas weeping bitterly.
“Overwhelmed with the sight of glory, alas! this lord has slain himself,” I said, and pointed to the wound in the dead man’s breast whence still the blood oozed drop by drop.
“Nay, this witch slew him,” moaned Amenartas, but if Philo heard her words, he took no heed of them.