"Oh, too swift and too degrading a surrender!" interrupted Theos suddenly with reproachful vehemence ... "Thy words do madden patience!--Better a thousand times that thou shouldst perish, Sah- lama, now in the full plenitude of thy poet-glory, than thus confess thyself a prey to thine own passions,--a credulous victim of Lysia's treachery!"

For one second the Laureate stood amazed, . . the next, he sprang upon his guest and grasping him fiercely by the throat.

"Treachery?" he muttered with white lips.. "Treachery? ... Darest thou speak of treachery and Lysia in the same breath? ... O thou rash fool! dost thou blaspheme my lady's name and yet not fear to die?"

And his lithe brown fingers tightened their clutch. But Theos cared nothing for his own life,--some inward excitation of feeling kept him resolute and perfectly controlled.

"Kill me, Sah-luma!" he gasped--"Kill me, friend whom I love! ... death will be easy at thy hands! Deprive me of my sad existence, . . 'tis better so, than that I should have slain THEE last night at Lysia's bidding!"

At this, Sah-luma suddenly released his hold and started backward with a sharp cry of anguish, . . his face was pale, and his beautiful eyes grew strained and piteous.

"Slain ME! ... Me! ... at Lysia's bidding!" he murmured wildly.. "O ye gods, the world grows dark! is the sun quenched in heaven? ... At Lysia's bidding! ..Nay, . . by my soul, my sight is dimmed! ... I see naught but flaring red in the air, . . Why! ..." and he laughed discordantly.. "thou poor Theos, thou shalt use no dagger's point,--for lo! ... I am dead already! ... Thy words have killed me! Go, . . tell her how well her cruel mission hath sped,-- my very soul is slain...at her bidding! Hasten to her, wilt thou!".. and his accents trembled with pathetic plaintiveness! ... "Say I am gone! ... lost! drawn into a night of everlasting blackness like a taper blown swiftly out by the wind, . . tell her that Sah-luma,--the poet Sah-luma, the foolish-credulous Sah-luma who loved her so madly is no more!"

His voice broke, . . his head drooped, . . while Theos, whose every nerve throbbed in responsive sympathy with the passion of his despair, strove to think of some word of comfort, that like soothing balm might temper the bitterness of his chafed and wounded spirit, but could find none. For it was a case in which the truth must be told, . . and truth is always hard to bear if it destroys, or attempts to destroy, any one of our cherished self- delusions!

"My friend, my friend!" he said presently with gentle earnestness,--"Control this fury of thy heart! ... Why such unmanly sorrow for one who is not worthy of thee?"




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