"My Cleopatra!"
Her fitful face changed.
"That weakling—is he still hovering?"
"He passed the winter with us. He looks upon me as his," she said dolefully.
"I flick him away. Do not try to belong to another. I tell you solemnly I claim you as mine. We cannot resist destiny. Our meeting to-day proves it. To-morrow we climb to see the sunrise together,—the sunrise over the mountains. Symbol of our future that begins. The heavens opening in purple and gold over the white summits—love breaking upon your virginal purity."
Already she felt, as of yore, swept off on roaring seas. But the rush and the ecstasy had their alloy of terror. To be with him was to be no longer herself, but a hypnotized stranger. Perhaps she was unwise to have provoked this meeting. She should have remembered he was not to be coquetted with. As well put a match to a gunpowder barrel to warm your fingers. Every other man could be played with. This one swallowed you up.
"But Prince Janko has no one but me," she tried to protest. "My little Moorish page, my young Othello!"
"Keep him a page. Othellos are best left bachelors. Remember the fate of Desdemona."
"I'll give you both up," she half whimpered. "I'll go on the stage."