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"Theos! Theos!" and her voice pealed out on the breathless air in sweet, melodious, broken echoes.. "Oh, my unfaithful Beloved, what can I do for thee! A love unseen thou wilt not understand, a love made manifest thou wilt not recognize! Alas! my journey is in vain ... my errand hopeless!
To this Lysia pointed with a fiendish glee, as she pulled Theos forward. "Strike now!" she whispered.. "Quick.. why dost thou hesitate?"
Sah-luma looked after her with a pretty, half-pleased perplexity. "She is often thus!" he said in a tone of playful resignation, "As I told thee, Theos, women are butterflies, hovering hither and thither on uneasy pinions, uncertain of their own desires.
He pointed before him as he spoke, and Theos stood for a moment stock-still and overcome with astonishment, at the size and splendor of the palace whose gates they were just approaching.
And that the crazed reprobate carries it himself makes no exemption from the rule!" Theos shuddered.
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.
Niphrata is a woman-riddle, sometimes she angers me, sometimes she soothes, ... now she prattles of things that concern me not, and anon converses with such high and lofty earnestness of speech, that I listen amazed, and wonder where she hath gathered up her store of seeming wisdom." "Love teaches her all she knows!" interrupted Theos quickly and with a meaning glance.
"See you not, Theos, how warm and soft and shuddering a curl it is? ... It clings to me as if it knew my touch! as if it half remembered how many and many a time it had been drawn with its companions to my lips and kissed full tenderly! ... How sad and desolate it seems thus severed and alone!"
Perhaps I inherited the fatal love of it from my mother she was a Greek-and she had a subtle music in her that nothing could quell, not even my father's English coldness. She named me Theos, little guessing what a dreary sarcasm that name would prove! It was well, I think, that she died early." "Well for her, but perhaps not so well for you," said Heliobas with a keen, kindly glance at him.
"Yes, the field is 'barren and dry' enough in all conscience!" he murmured listlessly "But as for the 'silver eyes' and the 'signs and wonders, they must have existed only in the venerable Prophet's imagination, just as my flower-crowned Angel-maiden exists in mine. Well! ... now, Theos Alwyn" ... he continued, apostrophizing himself aloud, "Are you contented?
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