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But Khosrul is old, and that the King humors his vagaries is simply out of pity for his age and infirmity, Niphrata, not because of fear! Our Monarch knows no fear." "Khosrul prophesies terrible things!" ... murmured the girl hesitatingly "I have often thought ... if they should come true. ..."
Ah, Niphrata!" and he paused at the side of the girl standing by the harp "Hast thou sung many of my songs to-day? ... or is thy voice too weak for such impassioned cadence? Thou art pale, . . I miss thy soft blush and dimpling smile, what ails thee, my honey-throated oriole?"
No matter! she has gone; everything goes, even good women, and nothing lasts save folly, of which there shall surely never be an end!" Here apparently conscious that he had shown more feeling in speaking of Niphrata than was usual with him, he looked up impatiently and waved his staff toward Sah-luma's study; "In, in, boy! In, to, the Chief of poets and prince of egotists!
To Niphrata, Sah-luma remained as a sort of splendid divinity, for whom no devotion was too vast, too high, or too complete, . . better, oh surely far better that she should die in her beautiful self-deception, than live to see her elected idol descend to his true level, and openly display all the weaknesses of his volatile, flippant, godless, sensual, yet, alas! most fascinating and genius-gifted nature, . . a nature, which, overflowing as it was with potentialities of noble deeds, yet lacked sufficient intrinsic faith and force to accomplish them!
Niphrata or Gisenya will crown thee!" "I am not worthy" answered Theos, bending his head in low salutation to the two lovely girls, who stood eying him with a certain wistful wonder "One spray from Sah-luma's discarded wreath will best suffice me!" Sah-luma broke into a laugh of absolute delight. "I swear thou speakest well and like a true man!" he said joyously.
If the King deemed a poet's counsel worth the taking, he would long ago have shut this bearded ranter within the four walls of a dungeon, where only rats and spiders would attend his lectures on approaching Doom!" "Nay, but my lord " Niphrata ventured to say timidly "The King dare not lay hands on Khosrul ..."
'Tis an unequal simile, my friend! as well compare a fiery planet with a twinkling dewdrop, as draw a parallel between the heroic ideal maid 'Nourhalma' and my fluttering singing-bird, Niphrata!" Theos sighed involuntarily, but forcing a smile, let the subject drop and held his peace, while Sah-luma, taking up the thread of his poetical narrative, went on reciting.
But Lysia was perfectly self-possessed, . . in fact she appeared to accept the threat of a storm as an imposing, and by no means undesirable, adjunct to the mysteries of the Sacrificial Rite, for riveting her basilisk eyes on Niphrata, she said in firm, clear, decisive accents: "The gods grow impatient! ... Wherefore, O Princess and People of Al-Kyris, let us hasten to appease their anger!
And filled with strange bitterness, he gazed disconsolately at Niphrata, who stood like one in a trance of ecstasy, patiently awaiting her doom, her lovely, innocent blue eyes gladly upturned to the long, jewel-like head of Nagaya, which twined round the summit of the ebony staff, seemed to peer down at her in a sort of drowsy reflectiveness.
It must be Niphrata who was playing, thought Theos, ... and what strange and plaintive chords she swept from the vibrating strings! ... They seemed laden with the tears of broken-hearted women dead and buried ages upon ages ago!
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