But at length she seemed to wear herself out and cease. She sat herself
down upon the rocky floor, shook the dense cloud of her beautiful hair
over her face and breast, and began to sob terribly in the torture of a
heartrending despair.
"Two thousand years," she moaned--"two thousand years have I wanted and
endured; but though century doth still creep on to century, and time
give place to time, the sting of memory hath not lessened, the light of
hope doth not shine more bright. Oh! to have lived two thousand years,
with all my passion eating out my heart, and with my sin ever before me.
Oh, that for me life cannot bring forgetfulness! Oh, for the weary years
that have been and are yet to come, and evermore to come, endless and
without end!
"My love! my love! my love! Why did that stranger bring thee back to me
after this sort? For five hundred years I have not suffered thus. Oh,
if I sinned against thee, have I not wiped away the sin? When wilt thou
come back to me who have all, and yet without thee have naught? What is
there that I can do? What? What? What? And perchance she--perchance that
Egyptian doth abide with thee where thou art, and mock my memory.
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