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She made a slight imperative gesture of command to Gazra, who at once approached, and, bending over the dead Nir-jalis, proceeded to strip off all the gold clasps and valuable jewels that had so lavishly adorned the ill-fated young man's attire, then beckoning another slave nearly as tall and muscular as himself, they attached to the neck and feet of the corpse round, leaden, bullet-shaped weights, fastened by means of heavy iron chains.
Cursed be Love from birth unto death! may its sweetness be brief, and its bitterness endless! its delight a snare, and its promise treachery! O ye mad lovers! fools all!" ... and he turned his splendid wild eyes round on the hushed assemblage, "Despise me and my words as ye will, throughout ages to come, the curse of the dead Nir-jalis shall cling!"
The attendant slaves stood all mute and motionless, with the exception of Gazra, who surveyed the torments of Nir-jalis with an air of professional interest, and appeared to be waiting till they should have reached that pitch of excruciating agony when Nature, exhausted, gives up the conflict and welcomes death as a release from pain. But this desirable end was not yet.
The words were gently, almost tenderly, spoken; but Nir-jalis hearing them, grew white as death his smile faded, leaving his lips set and stern as the lips of a marble mask.
Now dost thou not at once perceive how vile were the suggestions of Nir-jalis, . . and also how foolish was thy fancy last night with regard to the armed masquerader thou didst see in Lysia's garden?" Theos made no reply, but sat absorbed in his own reflections.
"Bah!" returned the Laureate lightly. "Who and what was Nir-jalis? A hewer of stone images a no-body! he will not be missed! Besides, he is only one of many who have perished thus." "Only one of many!" ejaculated Theos with a shudder of aversion.. "And yet, . . O thou most reckless and misguided soul! ... thou dost love this wanton murderess!"
Suddenly springing to his feet, Nir-jalis tore open his richly jewelled vest, and pressed his two hands hard upon his heart, ... the veins in his flesh were swollen and blue, his labored breath seemed as though it must break his ribs in its terrible, panting struggle, his face, livid and lined with purple marks like heavy bruises, bore not a single trace of its former fairness, ... and his eyes, rolled up and fixed glassily in their quivering sockets, seemed to be dreadfully filled with the speechless memory of his lately spoken curse.
Nir-jalis heeded him not. His eyes were fixed on Lysia, like the eyes of a tortured animal who vainly seeks for mercy at the hand of its destroyer.
The cheap scribes of the Daily Circular cater chiefly for the mob, and do all in their power to foster morbid qualities of disposition and murderous tendencies among the lower orders; hence though there is nothing in the news-sheet pertaining to Literature or the Fine Arts, there is much concerning the sudden death of the young sculptor Nir-jalis, whose body was found flung on the banks of the river this morning."
Here is thy weapon.." and she thrust into his hand a dagger, the very dagger her slave Gazra, had deprived him of, when by its prompt use he might have mercifully ended the cruel torments of Nir-jalis, "Let thy stroke be strong and unfaltering, . . stab him to the heart, the cold, cold, selfish heart that has never ached with a throb of pity! ... kill him!
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