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To be a man only a man how great that is!" His voice died away, and with it the sweet, soothing spell. Fire glowed in Melisselda's breast, heaving her bosom, shooting sparks from her eyes. "Nay, if thou art only a man, thou art not even a man. My love is dead." As he shrank beneath her contempt, another stanza of his ancient song sang itself involuntarily in his brain. Never had he seen her thus.
But in their hearts was a vague fear of the dazzling present, and a blind clinging to the unhappy past. In the Jewry of Smyrna the Messiah walked on the afternoon of the abolished fast, and a vast concourse seethed around him, dancing and singing, with flute and timbrel, harp and drum. Melisselda's voice led the psalm of praise.
"Therefore," and his voice rose firm again, "leave me to myself." "Thou hast become a stranger," she said tremulously. "I do not understand thee." "Would thou hadst ever been a stranger, that I had never understood thee." "Sabbataï, thou ravest." "I have come to my senses. O my God! my God!" and he fell a-weeping on the divan. Melisselda's alarm grew greater. "Rouse thyself, they will hear thee."
Thy Spanish song made me an Emperor's daughter I will be an Emperor's consort." And she laughed wantonly. The guards advanced timidly with visible awe. Melisselda's swiftly flashing face changed suddenly. She drew him to her breast. "My King!" she murmured. "'Twas cruel to tempt my faith thus." Then releasing him, she cried, "Go to thy Kingdom."
His breast swelled with hysteric sobs. "My Sabbataï!" Melisselda's warm arms were round him. He threw her off with violence. "Back, back!" he cried. "I understand the sign; I understand at last. 'Tis through thee that I have forfeited the divine grace." "Through me?" she faltered. "Yea; thy lips have wooed mine away from prayer, thine arms have drawn me down from the steeps of righteousness.
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