She no longer thought these things--she was possessed by them; they had the mastery, and as a madman feels forced to repeat the same words again and again to himself, so no prayer, no argument at this moment would have prevailed to divert her from her purpose of giving up her young life for Publius and Irene. She contemplated this resolve with affection and pride as justifying her in looking up to herself as to some nobler creature. She turned a deaf ear to the Roman’s entreaty, and said in a tone of which the softness surprised him:
“Be silent Publius, and hear me further. You too are noble, and certainly you owe me some gratitude for having saved your life.”
“I owe you much, and I will pay it,” cried Publius, “as long as there is breath in this body--but open the door, I beseech you, I implore you--”
“Hear me to the end, time presses; hear me out, Publius. My sister Irene went away with you. I need say nothing about her beauty, but how bright, how sweet her nature is you do not know, you cannot know, but you will find out. She, you must be told, is as poor as I am, but the child of freeborn and noble parents. Now swear to me, swear--no, do not interrupt me--swear by the head of your father that you will never, abandon her, that you will never behave to her otherwise than as if she were the daughter of your dearest friend or of your own brother.”
“I swear it and I will keep my oath--by the life of the man whose head is more sacred to me than the names of all the gods. But now I beseech you, I command you open this door, Klea--that I may not lose you--that I may tell you that my whole heart is yours, and yours alone--that I love you, love you unboundedly.”
“I have your oath,” cried the girl in great excitement, for she could now see a shadow moving backwards and forwards at some distance in the desert. “You have sworn by the head of your father. Never let Irene repent having gone with you, and love her always as you fancy now, in this moment, that you love me, your preserver. Remember both of you the hapless Klea who would gladly have lived for you, but who now gladly dies for you. Do not forget me, Publius, for I have never but this once opened my heart to love, but I have loved you Publius, with pain and torment, and with sweet delight--as no other woman ever yet revelled in the ecstasy of love or was consumed in its torments.” She almost shouted the last words at the Roman as if she were chanting a hymn of triumph, beside herself, forgetting everything and as if intoxicated.