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Updated: May 20, 2025
Thou hast, methinks, a certain faith in the unsolved mysteries, but I have none, for sweet as the promise of a future life may seem, there is no proof that it shall ever be. If one died and rose again from the dead, then might we all believe and hope.. but otherwise ..." Oh, miserable Theos!
For if the City of Al-Kyris, with all its vivid wonders, its distinct experiences, its brilliant pageantry, had been indeed a DREAM, then sorely it was possible he might be dreaming still! ... Nevertheless he was able to gather up the fragments of lost recollection consecutively enough to realize, by gentle degrees, his actual identity and position in the world, . . he was Theos Alwyn, . . a man of the nineteenth century after Christ.
He paused again, and again smiled, . . a grave, reluctant, doubting smile such as seemed to Theos oddly familiar, suggesting to his bewildered fancy that he must have seen it before, ON HIS OWN FACE, reflected in a mirror!
So say the unthinking and foolish so will they ever say, and hence it is, that though the fame of Theos Alwyn widens year by year, and his sweet clarion harp of Song rings loud warning, promise, hope, and consolation above the noisy tumult of the whirling age, people listen to him merely in vague wonderment and awe, doubting his prophet utterance, and loth to put away their sin.
As this thought passed across his mind, Theos sighed, . . he felt curiously conscience- stricken, ashamed, and humiliated, THROUGH Sah-luma, and solely for Sah-luma's sake! At present, however, his chief anxiety was to get his friend safely out of Lysia'a pavilion before she should return to it, and his spirit chafed within him at each moment of enforced delay.
"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!"
He sighed a short, troubled sigh, and stood for a moment silent in an attitude of pensive thought. Theos watched him yearningly, waiting in almost breathless suspense till he should dictate aloud the first line of his poem.
In the black thirsty eyes there was a look that spoke volumes, a look that betrayed what the heart concealed, and reading that featured emblazonment of hidden guilt, Theos knew beyond all doubt that the rumors concerning the High Priestess and the King were true, . . that the dead Khosrul had spoken rightly, . . that Zephoranim loved Lysia! ... Love? ... it seemed too tame a word for the pent-up fury of passion that visibly and violently consumed the man!
The panel slowly moved, it glided back, and the great brute leaped forward, flinging her two soft paws on the shoulders of the figure that appeared the figure of a woman, who, clad in glistening gold from head to foot, shone in the dark aperture like a gilded image in a shrine of ebony. Theos beheld the brilliant apparition in some doubt and wonder. Was this Lysia?
As he spoke, Theos obediently went toward him with the dazed sensations of one under the influence of mesmerism, ... the dazzling face and luminous eyes of the Laureate exercised over him an indescribable yet resistless authority, and it was certain that, wherever Sah-luma led the way, he was bound to follow.
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