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Ardath

<h2 id="id00937" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> <h5 id="id00938">A STRANGE TEMPTATION.</h5> On went the dance, … faster, faster, and ever faster! Only the pen of some mirth-loving, rose-crowned Greek bard could adequately describe the dazzling, wild beauty and fantastic grace of those whirling fairy forms, that now inspired to a bacchante-like ardor, urged one another to fresh speed with brief soft cries of musical rapture! Now advancing,—now retreating … now intermingling all together in an undulating garland of living loveliness, … now parting asunder with an air of sweet coquettishness and caprice, …—anon meeting again, and winding arm within arm,—till bending forward in attitudes of the tenderest entreaty, they seemed, with their languid, praying eyes and clasped hands, to be waiting for Love to soothe the breathless sweetness of their parted lips with kisses! The light in the dome again changed its hue,—from pale rose-pink it flickered to delicate amber-green, flooding the floor with a radiance as of watery moonbeams, and softening the daintily draped outlines of that exquisite group of human blossoms, till they looked like the dimly imagined shapes of Nereids floating on the glistening width of the sea. And now the extreme end of the vast hall began to waver to and fro as though shaken at its foundation by subterranean forces,—a flaring shaft of flame struck through it like the sweeping blade of a Titan's sword,—and presently with a thunderous noise the whole wall split asunder, and recoiling backwards on either side, disclosed a garden, golden with the sleepy glory of the late moon, and peacefully fair in all the dreamy attractiveness of drooping foliage, soft turf, and star-sprinkled, violet sky. In full view, and lit up by the reflected radiance flung out from the dome, a rushing waterfall made sonorous surgy music of its own as it tumbled headlong into a rocky recess overgrown with lotus-lilies and plumy fern,—here and there, small, white and gold tents or pavilions glimmered invitingly through the shadows cast by the great magnolia trees, from whose lovely half-shut buds balmy odors crept deliciously through the warm air. The sound of sweet pipes and faintly tinkling cymbals echoed from distant shady nooks, as though elfin shepherds were guarding their fairy flocks in some hidden corner of this ambrosial pasturage, and ever by degrees the light grew warmer and more mellow in tint, till it resembled the deep hue of an autumn, yellow sunset, flecked through with emerald haze. Another clash of cymbals! … this time stormily persistent and convincing! … another! … yet another! … and then, a chime of bells,—a steady ringing, persuasive chime, such as brings tears to the eyes of many a wanderer, who, hearing a similar sound when far away from home, straightway thinks of the village church of his earlier years, . . those years of the best happiness we ever know on earth, because we enjoy in them the bliss of ignorance, the glory of youth! A curious stifling sensation began to oppress Theos's heart as he listened to those bells, . . they reminded him of such strange things, … things to which he could not give a name,—things foolish, yet sweet, . . odd suggestions of fair women who were wont to pray for those they loved, and who believed, . . alas, the pity of it!—that their prayers would be heard … and granted! What was it that these dear, loving, credulous ones said, when in the silence of the night they offered up their patient supplications to an irresponsive Heaven? "LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION, BUT DELIVER US FROM EVIL!" Yes! … he remembered,—those were the words,—the simple-wise words that for positive-practical minds had neither meaning nor reason,—and that yet were so infinitely pathetic in their perfect humility and absolute trust! "LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION!" … He murmured the phrase under his breath as he gazed with straining eyes out into the languorous beauty of that garden-scene that spread its dewy, emerald glamour before him,—and—"deliver us from evil!" broke from his lips in a half-sobbing sigh, as the peal of the chiming bells softened by degrees into a subdued tunefulness of indistinct and tremulous semitones, and the clarion-clearness of the cymbals again smote the still air with forceful and jarring clangor. Then…like a rainbow-garmented Peri floating easefully out of some far-off sphere of sky-wonders,—an aerial Maiden-Shape glided into the full lustre of the varying light,—a dancer, nude save for the pearly glistening veil that was carelessly cast about her dainty limbs, her white arms and delicate ankles being adorned with circlets of tiny, golden bells, which kept up a melodious jingle-jangle as she moved. And now began the strangest music,—music that seemed to hover capriciously between luscious melody and harsh discord,—a wild and curious medley of fantastic, minor suggestions in which the imaginative soul might discover hints of tears and folly, love and madness. To this uncertain yet voluptuous measure the glittering girl-dancer leaped forward with a startlingly beautiful abruptness,—and halting, as it were, on the boundary-line between the dome and the garden beyond, raised her rounded arms in a snowy arch above her head, and so for one brief instant, looked like an exquisite angel ready to soar upward to her native realm. Her pause was a mere breathing space in duration, … dropping her arms again with a swift decision that set all the little bells on them clashing stormily, she straightway hurled herself, so to speak, into the giddy paces of a dance that was more like an enigma than an exercise. Round and round she floated wildly, like an opal-winged butterfly in a net of sunbeams,—now seemingly shaken by delicate tremors as aspen leaves are shaken by the faintest wind, ..now assuming the most voluptuous eccentricities of posture, . . sometimes bending wistfully toward the velvet turf on which she trod, as though she listened to the chanting of demon voices underground, . . and again, with her waving white hands, appearing to summon spirits downward from their wanderings in upper air. Her figure was in perfect harmony with the seductive grace of her gestures,—not only her twinkling feet, but her whole body danced,—her very features bespoke entire abandonment to the frenzy of rapid movement,—her large black eyes flashed with something of fierceness as well as languor; her raven hair streamed behind her like a dark spread wing, . . her parted lips pouted and quivered with excitement and ardor while ever and anon she turned her beautiful head toward the eagerly attentive group of revelers who watched her performance, with an air of indescribable sweetness, malice, and mockery. Again and again she whirled,—she flew, she sprang,—and wild cries of "Hail, Nelida!" "Triumph to Nelida!" resounded uproariously through the dome. Suddenly the character of the music changed, … from an appealing murmurous complaint and persuasion, it rose to a martial and almost menacing fervor; the roll of drums and the shrill, reedy warbling of pipes and other fluty minstrelsy crossed the silvery thread of strung harps and viols, … the light from the fiery globe shot forth a new effulgence, this time in two broad rays, one a dazzling, pale azure, the other a clear, pearly white. Nelida's graceful movements grew slower and slower, till she merely seemed to sway indolently to and fro like a mermaid rocking herself to sleep on the summit of a wave, … and then,—from among the veiling shadows of the trees, there stepped forth a man,—beautiful as a sculptured god, of magnificently moulded form and noble stature, clothed from chest to knee in a close fitting garb of what seemed to be a thick network of massively linked gold. His dark hair was crowned with ivy, and at his belt gleamed an unsheathed dagger. Slowly and with courtly grace he approached the panting Nelida, who now, with half-closed eyes and slackening steps, looked as though she were drowsily footing her way into dreamland. He touched her snowy shoulder,—she started with an inimitable gesture of surprise, … a smile, brilliant as morning, dawned on her face,—withdrawing herself slightly, she assumed an air of haughtily sweet disdain and refusal, … then capriciously relenting, she gave him her hand, and in another instant, to the sound of a joyous melody that seemed to tumble through the air as billows tumble on the beach, the dazzling pair whirled away in a giddy waltz like two bright flames blown suddenly together by the wind. No language could give an adequate idea of the marvelous bewitchment and beauty of their united movements, and as they flew over the dark smooth turf, with the flower-laden trees drooping dewily about them, and the yellow moonbeams like melted amber beneath their noiseless feet, … while the pale sapphire and white radiations from the dome, sparkling upon them aureole-wise, gave them the appearance of glittering birds circling through a limitless space of luminous and never-clouded ether. On, on! … and they scarcely touched the earth as they spun dizzily round and round, their gracefully entwined limbs shining like polished ivory in the light, … on, on!—with ever-increasing swiftness they sped, till their two forms seemed to merge into one, … when as though oppressed by their own abandonment of joy they paused hoveringly, their embracing arms closing round one another, their lips almost touching, … their eyes reflecting each other's ardent looks, … then, … their figures grew less and less distinct, … they appeared to melt mysteriously into the azure, pearly light that surrounded them, and finally, like faint clouds fading on the edge of a sea-horizon, they vanished! The effect of this brief voluptuous dance, and its equally voluptuous end, was simply indescribable,—the young men, who had watched it through in silence and flushed ecstasy, now sprang from their couches with shouts of rapture and unrestrained excitement, and seizing the other dancing-maidens who had till now remained in clustered, half-hidden groups behind the crystalline columns of the hall, whirled them off into the inviting pleasaunce beyond, where the little white and gold pavilions peeped through the heavy foliage,—and before Theos, in the picturesque hurry and confusion of the scene, could quite realize what had happened, the great globe in the dome was suddenly extinguished, … a firm hand closed imperiously on his own, and he was drawn along swiftly, he knew not whither! A slight tremor shook him as he discovered that Sah-luma was no longer by his side … the friend whom he so ardently desired to protect had gone,—and he could not tell where. He glanced about him,—in the semi-obscurity he was able to discern the sheen of the lake with its white burden of water-lilies, and the branchy outlines of the moonlit garden, … and … yes! it was Lysia whose grasp lay so warmly on his arm, … Lysia whose lovely, tempting face was so perilously near his own,—Lysia whose smile colored the soft gloom with such alluring lustre! … His heart beat,—his blood burned,—he strove in vain to imagine what fate was now in store for him. He was conscious of the beauty of the night that spread its star-embroidered splendors about him,—conscious too of the vital youth and passion that throbbed amorously in his veins, endowing him with that keenly sweet, headstrong rapture which is said to come but once in a lifetime, and which in the very excess of its fond folly is too often apt to bring sorrow and endless remorse in its train. One moment more and he found himself in an exquisitely adorned pavilion of painted silk, faintly lit by one lamp of tenderest rose lustre, and carpeted with gold-spangled tissue. It was surrounded by a thicket of orange trees in full bloom, and the fragrance of the waxen-white flowers clung heavily to the air, breathing forth delicate suggestions of languor and sleep. The measured rush of the near waterfall alone disturbed the deep silence, with now and then the subdued and plaintive trill of a nightingale soothing itself to rest with its own song in some deep shadowed copse. Here, on a couch of heaped-up, stemless roses, such as might have been prepared for the repose of Titania, Lysia seated herself, while Theos stood gazing at her in fascinated wonderment and gradually increasing masterfulness of passion. She looked lovelier than ever in that dim, soft, mingled light of rosy lamp and silver moonbeams,—her smile was no longer cold but warmly sweet,—her eyes had lost their mocking glitter, and swam in a soft languor that was strangely bewitching,—even the Orbed Symbol on her white bosom seemed for once to drowse. Her lips parted in a faint sigh,—a glance like fire flashed from beneath her black, silken lashes, … "Theos!" she said tremulously. "Theos!" and waited. He, mute and oppressed by indistinct, hovering recollections, fed his gaze on her seductive fairness for one earnest moment longer,—then suddenly advancing he knelt before her, and took her unresisting hands in his. "Lysia!"—and his voice, even to his own ears, had a solemn as well as passionate thrill,—"Lysia, what wouldst thou have with me? Speak! … for my heart aches with a burden of dark memories,—memories conjured up by the wizard spell of thine eyes,—those eyes so cruel-sweet that seem to lure me to my soul's ruin! Tell me—have we not met before? … loved before? … wronged each other and God before? … parted before? … Maybe 'tis but a brain sick fancy,—nevertheless my spirit knows thee,—feels thee,—clings to thee,—and yet recoils from thee as one whom I did love in by-gone days of old! My thoughts of thee are strange, fair Lysia!"—and he pressed her warm, delicate fingers with unconscious fierceness,—"I would have sworn that in the Past thou didst betray me!" Her low laugh stirred the silence into a faint, tuneful echo. "Thou foolish dreamer!" she murmured half mockingly, half tenderly … "Thou art dazed with wine, steeped in song, bewitched with beauty, and knowest nothing of what thou sayest! Methinks thou art a crazed poet, and more fervid than Sah-luma in the mystic nature of thine utterance,—thou shouldst be Laureate, not he! What if thou wert offered his place? … his fame?" He looked at her, surprised and perplexed, and paused an instant before replying. Then he said slowly: "So strange a thing could never be … for Sah-luma's place, once empty, could not again be filled! I grudge him not his glory-laurels,—moreover, … what is Fame compared to Love!" He uttered the last words in a low tone as though he spoke them to himself, … she heard,—and a flash of triumph brightened her beautiful face. "Ah! …" and she drooped her head lower and lower till her dark, fragrant tresses touched his brow … "Then, … thou dost love me?" He started. A dull pang ached in his heart,—a chill of vague uncertainty and dread. Love! … was it love indeed that he felt? … love, … or … base desire? Love … The word rang in his ears with the same sacred suggestiveness as that conveyed by the chime of bells,—surely, Love was a holy thing, … a passion pure, impersonal, divine, and deathless,—and it seemed to him that somewhere it had been written or said … "Wheresoever a man seeketh himself, there he falleth from Love" And he, … did he not seek himself, and the gratification of his own immediate pleasure? Painfully he considered, … it was a supreme moment with him,—a moment when he felt himself to be positively held within the grasp of some great Archangel, who, turning grandly reproachful eyes upon him, demanded … "Art thou the Servant of Love or the Slave of Self?" And while he remained silent, the silken sweet voice of the fairest woman he had ever seen once more sent its musical cadence through his brain in that fateful question: "Thou dost love me?" A deep sigh broke from him, … he moved nearer to her, … he entwined her warm waist with his arms, and stared upon her as though he drank her beauty in with his eyes. Up to the crowning masses of her dusky hair where the little serpents' heads darted forth glisteningly,—over the dainty curve of her white shoulders and bosom where the symbolic Eye seemed to regard him with a sleepy weirdness,—down to the blue-veined, small feet in the silvery sandals, and up again to the red witchery of her mouth and black splendor of those twin fire-jewels that flashed beneath her heavy lashes—his gaze wandered hungrily, searchingly, passionately,—his heart beat with a loud, impatient eagerness like a wild thing struggling in its cage, but though his lips moved, he said no word,—she too was silent. So passed or seemed to pass some minutes,—minutes that were almost terrible in the weight of mysterious meaning they held unuttered. Then, with a half-smothered cry, he suddenly released her and sprang erect. "Love!" he cried, … "Nay!—'tis a word for children and angels!—not for me! What have I to do with love? … what hast thou? … thou, Lysia, who dost make the lives of men thy sport and their torments thy mockery! There is no name for this fever that consumes me when I look upon thee, … no name for this unquiet ravishment that draws me to thee in mingled bliss and agony! If I must perish of mine own bitter-sweet frenzy, let me be slain now and most utterly, … but Love has no abiding-place 'twixt me and thee, Lysia! … Love! … ah, no, no! … speak no more of love … it hath a charmed sound, recalling to my soul some glory I have lost!" He spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he said, and she, half lying on her couch of roses, looked at him curiously, with somber, meditative eyes. A smile of delicate derision parted her lips. "Of a truth, our late feasting hath roused in thee a most singular delirium!" she murmured indolently with a touch of cold amusement in her accents—"Thou dost seem to dwell in the Past rather than the Present! What ails thee? … Come hither—closer!"—and she stretched out her lovely arms on which the twisted diamond snakes glittered in such flashing coils,—"Come! … or is thy manful guise mere feigning, and dost thou fear me?" "Fear thee!"—and stung to a sudden heat Theos made one bound to her side and seizing her slim wrists, held them in a vise-like grip—"So little do I fear thee, Lysia, so well do I know thee, that in my very caresses I would slay thee, couldst thou thus be slain! Thou art to me the living presence of an unforgotten Sin,—a sin most deadly sweet and unrepented of, . . ah! why dost thou tempt me!"—and he bent over her more ardently—"must I not meet my death at thy hands? I must,—and more than death!—yet for thy kiss I will risk hell,—for one embrace of thine I will brave perdition! Ah, cruel enchantress!"—and winding his arms about her, he drew her close against his breast and looked down on the dreamy fairness of her face,—"Would there WERE such a thing as Death for souls like mine and thine! Would we might die most absolutely thus, heart against heart, never to wake again and loathe eathtypo or archaism? other! Who speaks of the cool sweetness of the grave,—the quiet ending of all strife,—the unbreaking seal of Fate, the deep and stirless rest? … These things are not, and never were, . . for the grave gives up its dead,—the strife is forever and ever resumed,—the seal is broken, and in all the laboring Universe there shall be found no rest, and no forgetfulness, . . ah, God! … no forgetfulness!" A shudder ran through his frame,—and clasping her almost roughly, he stooped toward her till his lips nearly touched hers, . . "Thou art accursed, Lysia,—and I share thy curse! Speak—how shall we cheer each other in the shadow-realm of fiends? Thou shall be Queen there, and I thy servitor,—we will make us merry with the griefs of others,—our music shall be the dropping of lost women's tears, and the groans of betrayed and tortured men,—and the light around us shall be quenchless fire! Shall it not be so, Lysia? … and thinkest thou that we shall ever regret the loss of Heaven?" The words rushed impetuously from his lips; he thought little and cared less what he said, so long as he could, by speech, no matter how incoherent, relieve in part, the terrible oppression of vague memories that burdened his brain. But she, listening, drew herself swiftly from his embrace and stood up,—her large eyes fixed full upon him with an expression of wondering scorn and fear. "Thou art mad!" she said, a quiver of alarm in her voice … "Mad as Khosrul, and all his evil-croaking brethren! I offer thee Love,—and thou pratest of death,—life is here in all the fulness of the now, for thy delight, and thou ravest of an immortal Hereafter which is not, and can never be! Why talk thus wildly? … why gaze on me with so distraught a countenance? But an hour agone, thou wert the model of a cold discretion and quiet valor,—thus I had judged thee worthy of my favor—favor sought by many, and granted to few, . . but an thou dost wander amid such chaotic and unreasoning fancies, thou canst not serve me,—nor therefore canst thou win the reward that would otherwise have awaited thee."… Here she paused,—a questioning, keen under-glance flashed from beneath her dark lashes, . . he, however, with pained, wistful eyes raised steadfastly to hers, gave no sign of apology or contrition for the disconnected strangeness of his recent outburst. Only he became gradually conscious of an inward, growing calm,—as though the Divine Voice that had once soothed the angry waves of Galilee were now hushing his turbulent emotions with a soft "Peace be still!" She watched him closely, . .and all at once apparently rendered impatient by his impassive attitude, she came coaxingly toward him, and laid one soft hand on his shoulder. "Canst thou not be happy, Theos?" she whispered gently—"Happy as other men are, when loved as thou art loved?" His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpents' heads that crowned her dusky tresses,—then on the great Eye that stared watchfully between her white breasts. A strong tremor shook him, and he sighed. "Happy as other men are, when they love and are deceived in love!"—he said.. "Yes, even so, Lysia,—I can be happy!" She threw one arm about him. "Thou shalt not be deceived"—she murmured quickly,—"Thou shalt be honored above the noblest in the realm, . . thy dearest hopes shall be fulfilled, . . thy utmost desires shall be granted, . . riches, power, fame,—all shall be thine,—IF THOU WILT DO MY BIDDING!" She uttered the last words with slow and meaning emphasis. He met her eager, burning looks quietly, almost coldly,—the curious numb apathy of his spirit increased, and when he spoke, his voice was low and faint like the voice of one who speaks unconsciously in his sleep. "What canst thou ask that I will not grant?" he said listlessly.. "Is it not as it was in the old time,—thou to command, and I to obey? … Speak, fair Queen!—how can I serve thee?" Her answer came, swift and fierce as the hiss of a snake: <h5 id="id00970">"KILL SAH-LUMA!"</h5> The brief sentence leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery action of some burning drug,—a red mist rose to his eyes,—pushing her fiercely from him, he started to his feet in a bewildered, sick horror. KILL SAH-LUMA! … kill the gracious, smiling, happy creature whose every minute of existence was a joy,—kill the friend he loved,—the poet he worshipped! … Kill him! … ah God! … never! … never! … He staggered backward dizzily,—and Lysia with a sudden stealthy spring, like that of her favorite tigress, threw herself against his breast and looked up at him, her splendid eyes ablaze with passion, her black hair streaming, her lips curved in a cruel smile, and the hateful Jewel on her breast seeming to flash with ferocious vindictiveness. "Kill him!" she repeated eagerly—"Now—in his sottish slumber,—now when he hath lost sight of his Poetmission in the hot fumes of wine,—now, when, despite his genius, he hath made of himself a thing lower than the beasts! Kill him! …—I will keep good council, and none shall ever know who did the deed! He loves me, and I weary of his love, . . I would have him dead—dead as Nir-jalis! … but were he to drain the Silver Nectar, the whole city would cry out upon me for his loss,—therefore he may not perish so. But an thou wilt slay him, . . see!" and she clung to Theos with the fierce tenacity of some wild animal—"All this beauty of mine, is thine!—thy days and nights shall be dreams of rapture,—thou shalt be second to none in Al-Kyris,—thou shalt rule with me over King and people,—and we will make the land a pleasure-garden for our love and joy! Here is thy weapon.."—and she thrust into his hand a dagger,—the very dagger her slave Gazra, had deprived him of, when by its prompt use he might have mercifully ended the cruel torments of Nir-jalis,—"Let thy stroke be strong and unfaltering, . . stab him to the heart,—the cold, cold, selfish heart that has never ached with a throb of pity! … kill him!—'tis an easy task,—for lo! how fast he sleeps!" And suddenly throwing back a rich gold curtain that depended from one side of the painted pavilion, she disclosed a small interior chamber hung with amber and crimson, where, on a low, much-tumbled couch covered with crumpled glistening draperies, lay the King's Chief Minstrel,—the dainty darling of women,—the Laureate of the realm, sunk in a heavy, drunken stupor, so deep as to be almost death-like. Theos stared upon him amazed and bewildered, . . how came he there? Had he heard any of the conversation that had just passed between Lysia and himself? … Apparently not, . . he seemed bound as by chains in a stirless lethargy. His posture was careless, yet uneasy,—his brilliant attire was torn and otherwise disordered,—and some of his priceless jewels had fallen on the couch, and gleamed here and there like big stray dewdrops. His face was deeply flushed, and his straight dark brows were knit frowningly, his breathing was hurried and irregular, . . one arm was thrown above his head,—the other hung down nervelessly, the relaxed fingers hovering immediately above a costly jewelled cup that had dropped from his clasp,—two emptied wine flagons lay cast on the ground beside him, and he had evidently experienced the discomfort and feverous heat arising from intoxication, for his silken vest was loosened as though for greater ease and coolness, thus leaving the smooth breadth of his chest bare and fully exposed. To this Lysia pointed with a fiendish glee, as she pulled Theos forward. "Strike now!" she whispered.. "Quick.. why dost thou hesitate?" He looked at her fixedly, . . the previous hot passion he had felt for her froze like ice within his veins, … her fairness seemed no longer so distinctly fair, . . the witching radiance of her eyes had lost its charm, . …. and he motioned her from him with a silent gesture of stern repugnance. Catching sight of the sheeny glimmer of the lake through the curtained entrance of the tent, he made a sudden spring thither—dashed aside the draperies, and flung the dagger he held, far out towards the watery mirror. It whirled glittering through the air, and fell with a quick splash into the silver-rippled depths,—and, gravely contented, he turned upon her, dauntless and serene in the consciousness of power. "Thus do I obey thee!" he said, in firm tones that thrilled through and through with scorn and indignation,—"Thou evil Beauty! … thou fallen Fairness! … Kill Sah-luma? … Nay, sooner would I kill myself…or thee! His life is a glory to the world, . . his death shall never profit thee!"… For one instant a lurid anger blazed in her face,—the next her features hardened themselves into a rigidly cold expression of disdain, though her eyes widened with wrathful wonder. A low laugh broke from her lips. "Ah!" she cried—"Art thou angel or demon that thou darest defy me? Thou shouldst be either or both, to array thyself in opposition against the High Priestess of Nagaya, whose relentless Will hath caused empires to totter and thrones to fall! HIS life a glory to the world? …" and she pointed to Sah-luma's recumbent figure with a gesture of loathing and contempt, . . "HIS? … the life of a drunken voluptuary? … a sensual egotist? … a poet who sees no genius save his own, and who condemns all vice, save that which he himself indulges in! A laurelled swine! … a false god of art! … and for him thou dost reject Me! … ah, thou fool!" and her splendid eyes shot forth resentful fire.. "Thou rash, unthinking, headstrong fool! thou knowest not what thou hast lost! Aye, guard thy friend as thou wilt,—thou dost guard him at thine own peril! … think not that he, . . or thou, … shall escape my vengeance! What!—dost thou play the heroic with me? … thou who art Man, and therefore NO hero? … For men are cowards all, except when in the heat of battle they follow the pursuit of their own brief glory! … poltroons and knaves in spirit, incapable of resisting their own passions! … and wilt THOU pretend to be stronger than the rest? … Wilt thou take up arms against thyself and Destiny? Thou madman!"—and her lithe form quivered with concentrated rage—"Thou puny wretch that dost first clutch at, and then refuse my love!—thou who dost oppose thy miserable force to the Fate that hunts thee down!—thou who dost gaze at me with such grave, child-foolish eyes! … Beware, . . beware of me! I hate thee as I hate ALL men! … I will humble thee as I have humbled the proudest of thy sex! ..—wheresoever thou goest I will track thee out and torture thee! … and thou shalt die—miserably, lingeringly, horribly,—as I would have every man die could I fulfil my utmost heart's desire! To-night, be free! … but to-morrow as thou livest, I will claim thee!" Like an enraged Queen she stood,—one white, jewelled arm stretched forth menacingly,—her bosom heaving, and her face aflame with wrath, but Theos, leaning against Sah-luma's couch, heard her with as much impassiveness as though her threatening voice were but the sound of an idle wind. Only, when she ceased, he turned his untroubled gaze calmly and full upon her,—and then,—to his own infinite surprise she shivered and shrank backwards, while over her countenance flitted a vague, undefinable, almost spectral expression of terror. He saw it, and swift words came at once to his lips,—words that uttered themselves without premeditation. "To-morrow, Lysia, thou shalt claim nothing!" he said in a still, composed voice that to himself had something strange and unearthly in its tone … "Not even a grave! Get thee hence! … pray to thy gods if thou hast any,—for truly there is need of prayer! Thou shalt not harm Sah-luma, . . his love for thee may be his present curse,—but it shall not work his future ruin! As for me, . . though canst not slay me, Lysia,—seeing that to myself I am dead already! … dead, yet alive in thought, . . and thou dost now seem to my soul but the shadow of a past Crime, . . the ghost of a temptation overcome and baffled! Ah, thou sweet Sin!" here he suddenly moved toward her and caught her hands hard, looking fearlessly the while at her flushed half-troubled face,—"I do confess that I have loved thee, . . I do own that I have found thee fair! … but now—now that I see thee as thou art, in all the nameless horror of thy beauty, I do entreat,".. and his accents sank to a low yet fervent supplication—"I do entreat the most high God that I may be released from thee forever!" She gazed upon him with dilated, terrified eyes, … and he dimly wondered, as he looked, why she should seem to fear him?—Not a word did she utter in reply, . . step by step she retreated from him, . . her glittering, exquisite form grew paler and more indistinct in outline—and presently, catching at the gold curtain that divided the two pavilions, she paused…still regarding him steadfastly. An evil smile curved her lips, . . a smile of cold menace and derisive scorn, . . the iris-colored jewel on her breast darted forth vivid flashes of azure, and green and gray, . . the snakes in her hair seemed to rise and hiss at him, . . and then,—with an awful unspoken threat written resolvedly on every line of her fair features, . . she let the gold draperies fall softly,—and so disappeared, . . leaving him alone with Sah-luma! He stood for a moment half amazed, half perplexed,—then, drawing a deep breath, he pushed the clustering hair off his forehead with an unconscious gesture of relief. She was gone! … and he felt as though he had gained a victory over something, though he knew not what. The cold air from the lake blew refreshingly on his heated brow, . . and a thousand odors from orange-flowers and jessamine floated caressingly about him. The night was very still,—and approaching the opening of the tent, he looked out. There, in the soft sky gloom, moved the majestic procession of the Undiscovered Worlds seeming to be no more than bright dots on the measureless expanse of pure ether, . . there, low on the horizon, the yellow moon swooned languidly downwards in a bed of fleecy cloud,—the drowsy chirrup of a dreaming bird came softly now and again from the deep-branched shadows of the heavy foliage,—and the lilies on the surface of the lake nodded mysteriously among the slow ripples, like wise, white elves whispering to one another some secret of fairyland. And Sah-luma still slept, . . and still that puzzled and weary frown darkened the fairness of his broad brow, . . and, coming back to his side, Theos stood watching him with a yearning and sorrowful wistfulness. Gathering up the jewels that had fallen out of his dress, he replaced them one by one,—and strove to re-arrange the tossed and tumbled garb as best he might. While he was thus occupied his hand happened to touch the tablet that hung by a silver chain from the Laureate's belt,—he glanced at it, . . it was covered with fine writing, and turning it more toward the light, he soon made out four stanzas, perfectly rhymed and smoothly flowing as a well-modulated harmony. He read them slowly with a faint smile,—he recognized them as HIS OWN!—they were part of a poem he had long ago begun, yet have never finished! And now Sah-luma had the same idea! … moreover he had chosen the same rhythm, the same words! … well! … after all, what did it matter? Nothing, he felt, so far as he was concerned,—he had ceased to care for his own personality or interests,—Sah-luma had become dearer to him than himself! His immediate anxiety was centered in the question of how to rouse his friend from the torpor in which he lay, and get him out of this voluptuous garden of delights, before any lurking danger could overtake him. Full of this intention, he presently ventured to draw aside the curtain that concealed Lysia's pavilion, . . and looking in, he saw to his great relief, that she was no longer there. Her couch of crushed roses scented the place with heavy fragrance, and the ruby lamp was still burning, . . but she herself had departed. Now was the time for escape!—thought Theos—now,—while she was absent,—now, if Sah-luma could be persuaded to come away, he might reach his own palace in safety, and once there, he could be warned of the death that threatened him through the treachery of the woman he loved. But would he believe in, or accept, the warning? At any rate some effort must be made to rescue him, and Theos, without more ado, bent above him and called aloud: "Sah-luma! … Wake! Sah-luma!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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