Chapter LXVIII

She stood there carelessly arrayed All in jewelled dress, And leaning on the balustrade She wept with bitterness, For facing her there stood a maid Of rival loveliness.

Once she had been indifferent To languishment or guile, But when I argued with intent To hold her by a smile, Upon my eyes her own were bent For quite a little while.

The lady raised her fluttering hands. "The night is cold," she said, "For tropic men in northern lands, For old maids still unwed, And for the evil one who stands In heaven when he's dead."

She turned and gazed upon that face As lovely as her own, The poise of beauty and of grace That matched her grace alone.... And in that close and silent place I heard the lady moan.

I held the lady to my breast And kissed her mouth and eyes. She sighed and snuggled down to rest Without the least surprise, While I told tales of sweet unrest That sounded very wise.

"They say I'm mad," she whispered then, "I weep for dear despair, No matter where I go, dark men Follow me everywhere...." To quiet her I kissed again Her locks of golden hair.

"Great God!" she cried with finished grace, "That woman whom I hate." I looked and in a mirror's face I saw the lady's mate. Then quiet men of that strange place Came down the halls of state.

They took the lady tenderly Away from sound and sight. I answered not. It seemed to me As though they must be right. So I smashed the mirror utterly And fled into the night.