'Nika, circle of lies, canst thou think to deceive me, the magic centre of Ephesus? I divine thy thoughts, read thy soul to its very core. Again, let me advise thee, turn from this love business.'
'No! The philtre, brew it, make it quickly, give it me, I beg of thee! I cannot live without Chios. Have some compassion on me. Thou art a woman and wise, and canst see in this I lie not—my soul consumes me! He rejects me; all this inflames me to grasp quickly at this heart I love. In my passion I tried to slay thee. Forgive me, Endora—forgive me; I was mad! If thou dost not help me to win him—mark my meaning—I will not fail to make him so that he shall never love another!'
'Rash girl, thou art truly beside thyself! Philtre thou shalt have, but remember it often turns to madness those you seek to win. What then?'
'What then? I slay myself as an atonement!'
'Again, let me warn thee those philtres do not always take effect. It may be like so much water to Chios.'
'Never mind. Let me try.'
'Then have it thou shalt, but what of the Roman? With such intoxication for Chios, and if the Greek half equals thee, then it would be so apparent to the Proconsul.'
'Never you care! Give me a philtre to cool his love.'
So, without more words, Endora stepped into the gloom of the cave, and, opening one of the chests, took therefrom ingredients for the spell. On the altar the woman laid some embers of fire, and, pouring oil over them, they sent forth a little blaze, shining out and lighting up the faces with a lurid glare, casting dark shadows behind them. For a moment no voice broke the stillness of the place. After the woman had placed her crucible upon the fire, she turned to Nika, saying:
'Listen while I brew.' Stretching forth her bony hands, she said, 'Take this, thou haughty Greek: