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Updated: May 3, 2025
Theos drew a quick breath of relief, and glanced at Niphrata, ... how cold and unconcerned was her demeanor! ... Did she not hear Sah-luma's pleading in her behalf? ... No matter! she would be saved, he thought, and all would yet be well!
"My lord goes to the Palace to-night to make his valued voice heard in the presence of the King?" she inquired timidly. "Even so, Niphrata!" responded the Laureate, passing his hand carelessly through his clustering curls "I have been summoned thither by the Royal command. But what of that, little one?
We'll talk of love and poesy and tender things till sunset, . . I will recite to thee a ballad of mine that Niphrata loved, 'tis called 'An Idyl of Roses,...and it will lighten this hot and heavy silence, when even birds sleep, and butterflies drowse in the hollowed shelter of the arum-leaves. Come, wilt thou? ... To- night perchance we shall have little time for pleasant discourse!"
"Thanks be unto the benevolent destinies!" he exclaimed, flashing a quick glance of gratitude toward Lysia, . . the statuesque Lysia, on whose delicately curved lips the faintly derisive smile still lingered ... "And in return for the life of my Niphrata I will give a thousand jewels rare beyond all price to deck Nagaya's tabernacle! and I will pour libations to the Sun for twenty days and nights, in token of my heart's requital for mercy well bestowed!"
Instinctively he drew closer to his friend's side, and thus they remained for some minutes, exchanging no words, and gazing dreamily out on the luxurious foliage of the trees and the wealth of bright blossoms that adorned the landscape before them. "Thou art confident Niphrata will return?" questioned Theos presently in a low tone.
"Niphrata! .. .Niphrata!" he said in a tremulous half-whisper, "I am here, Sah-luma! ... Dost thou not know me!" She sighed, . . a long, shivering sigh, and smiled, . . what a strange, wistful, dying smile it was! ... but she made no answer.
When he had gone, Theos looked up from the news-scroll he was perusing: "Is it not strange Niphrata should have left thee thus, Sah- luma?".. he said with a touch of anxiety in his tone ... "Maybe".. and he hesitated, conscious of a strange, unbidden remorse that suddenly and without any apparent reason overwhelmed his conscience.. "Maybe she was not happy?"...
"Nothing!"...he faltered, "Nothing! ... 'tis over, . . the child must die!"...Then all suddenly the hard, drawn lines of his countenance relaxed, great tears gathered in his eyes, and fell slowly one by one, . . and moving aside, he shrank away as far as possible into the shadow cast by a huge column close by.. "O Niphrata! ... Niphrata!".. Theos heard him say in a voice broken by despair.. "Why do I love thee only now, . . NOW, when thou art lost to me forever!"
Many strange suggestions began to glimmer ghost-like through this same Adagio, the fair, dead face of Niphrata flitted past him, as a wandering moonbeam flits athwart a cloud, then came flashing reflections of light and color, the bewildering dazzlement of Lysia's beauty shone before the eyes of his memory with a blinding lustre as of flame, . . the phantasmagoria of the city of Al-Kyris seemed to float in the air like a faintly discovered mirage ascending from the sea, again he saw its picturesque streets, its domes and bell-towers, its courts and gardens.. again he heard the dreamy melody of the dance that had followed the death of Nir-jalis, and saw the cruel Lysia's wondrous garden lying white in the radiance of the moon; anon he beheld the great Square, with its fallen Obelisk and the prostrate, lifeless form of the Prophet Khosrul.. and.. Oh, most sad and dear remembrance of all! ... the cherished Shadow of Himself, the brilliant, the joyous Sah-luma appeared to beckon him from the other side of some vast gulf of mist and darkness, with a smile that was sorrowful, yet persuasive; a smile that seemed to say "O friend, why hast thou left me as though I were a dead thing and unworthy of regard?
He was entirely absorbed by the sovereign-peerless beauty of this wonderful High Priestess, this witch-like weaver of spells more potent than those of Circe; and musing thereon, Theos was sorry for Niphrata, he knew not why.
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