Oh, the horrible pathos of the sight! But she
could still speak.
"Kallikrates," she said in husky, trembling notes. "Forget me not,
Kallikrates. Have pity on my shame; I shall come again, and shall once
more be beautiful, I swear it--it is true! _Oh--h--h--_" and she fell
upon her face, and was still.
On the very spot where more than twenty centuries before she had slain
Kallikrates the priest, she herself fell down and died.
* * * * *
I know not how long we remained thus. Many hours, I suppose. When at
last I opened my eyes, the other two were still outstretched upon
the floor. The rosy light yet beamed like a celestial dawn, and the
thunder-wheels of the Spirit of Life yet rolled upon their accustomed
track, for as I awoke the great pillar was passing away. There, too, lay
the hideous little monkey frame, covered with crinkled yellow parchment,
that once had been the glorious _She_. Alas! it was no hideous dream--it
was an awful and unparalleled fact!
What had happened to bring this shocking change about? Had the nature
of the life-giving Fire changed? Did it, perhaps, from time to time send
forth an essence of Death instead of an essence of Life? Or was it that
the frame once charged with its marvellous virtue could bear no more,
so that were the process repeated--it mattered not at what lapse of
time--the two impregnations neutralised each other, and left the body
on which they acted as it was before it ever came into contact with the
very essence of Life? This, and this alone, would account for the sudden
and terrible ageing of Ayesha, as the whole length of her two thousand
years took effect upon her.
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