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Maurya. Oh! Oh! he must come out and be tended.
Whereis the lever ? Here—
[ Seed? supporting him on one arm, she ratses a
ponderous knocker and lets it fall. A clang,
sombre, and of surprising volume, resounds.
The door slowly opens of itself.]
Criospa. [Recovering.] Whois at the door? Back,
back. It is ill luck, ill luck, I say. Where is old
Andrew? The faithful fool—Oh, the last dreadful
look of his glazed eyes! What am I saying? Maurya,
girl, go! I must tend the temple. I must be alone. It
is not fitting—
Maurya. You are ill; come and be tended yourself,
first.
Criospa. No! I am well. You are a girl, not a
God.
Maurya. Oh! Oh! Have I done amiss? Am I
not
Criospa. Stop, don’t!
[Aside.] I must be man—tut ! tut !—
[Aloud.| Why, little sister, know
Those whom we worship as our gods are gods.
The power is mine: that art no skill resists.
No God dethrones himself ; none can.
Will he, nill he, God must be God: it 1s a luckless fate
for a girl’s dower, a thankless way for a maiden’s
feet.
Maurya. Why, then, am I not the Goddess
Maurya?