"Ah! don't touch me!" she shrieked wildly, her wealth of unbound hair
falling in profusion about her shoulders. "Canst thou not see that the
asp's poison is fatal?" she gasped hoarsely, her face, with its ugly
streak of blood, a ghastly hue. "Anu hath seized my kingdom. Merodach
hath forsaken me. See!" she cried with difficulty, reeling and
clutching for support at the arm of her glittering throne. "See! I
leave thee! The word of the prophet--is fulfilled!"
Her thin, blanched lips moved, but no further sound escaped them. Her
face was drawn and haggard, her limbs were convulsed by icy shiverings,
and her bejewelled fingers, hitching themselves in her filmy garments,
tore them in a paroxysm of pain as the deadly venom throbbed through her
blue veins.
She glared at me with a ferocity that showed how desperate she was.
But only for a moment. Her nerveless hand refused to support her, and,
staggering forward unevenly, she suddenly threw up her shapely arms,
with a wild, shrill shriek, and fell heavily forward upon the pavement
before the ancient throne of Babylon's queen.
I dashed up to where she had fallen, and, bending, raised her fair head
and placed my hand upon her white scarred breast.
Her heart had ceased its beating. Istar, the direct descendant of
Semiramis, the beautiful woman worshipped as goddess and queen, was
dead.
I rose and stood gazing upon her lifeless, prostrate form. Horror held
me dumb. Yet I was conqueror of the most ancient and remarkable city in
the world.