A STRANGE TEMPTATION.
On went the dance, ... faster, faster, and ever faster! Only the pen of
some mirth-loving, rose-crowned Greek bard could adequately describe
the dazzling, wild beauty and fantastic grace of those whirling fairy
forms, that now inspired to a bacchante-like ardor, urged one another
to fresh speed with brief soft cries of musical rapture! Now
advancing,--now retreating ... now intermingling all together in an
undulating garland of living loveliness, ... now parting asunder with
an air of sweet coquettishness and caprice, ...--anon meeting again,
and winding arm within arm,--till bending forward in attitudes of the
tenderest entreaty, they seemed, with their languid, praying eyes and
clasped hands, to be waiting for Love to soothe the breathless
sweetness of their parted lips with kisses! The light in the dome again
changed its hue,--from pale rose-pink it flickered to delicate
amber-green, flooding the floor with a radiance as of watery moonbeams,
and softening the daintily draped outlines of that exquisite group of
human blossoms, till they looked like the dimly imagined shapes of
Nereids floating on the glistening width of the sea.
And now the extreme end of the vast hall began to waver to and fro as
though shaken at its foundation by subterranean forces,--a flaring
shaft of flame struck through it like the sweeping blade of a Titan's
sword,--and presently with a thunderous noise the whole wall split
asunder, and recoiling backwards on either side, disclosed a garden,
golden with the sleepy glory of the late moon, and peacefully fair in
all the dreamy attractiveness of drooping foliage, soft turf, and
star-sprinkled, violet sky. In full view, and lit up by the reflected
radiance flung out from the dome, a rushing waterfall made sonorous
surgy music of its own as it tumbled headlong into a rocky recess
overgrown with lotus-lilies and plumy fern,--here and there, small,
white and gold tents or pavilions glimmered invitingly through the
shadows cast by the great magnolia trees, from whose lovely half-shut
buds balmy odors crept deliciously through the warm air. The sound of
sweet pipes and faintly tinkling cymbals echoed from distant shady
nooks, as though elfin shepherds were guarding their fairy flocks in
some hidden corner of this ambrosial pasturage, and ever by degrees the
light grew warmer and more mellow in tint, till it resembled the deep
hue of an autumn, yellow sunset, flecked through with emerald haze.
Another clash of cymbals! ... this time stormily persistent and
convincing! ... another! ... yet another! ... and then, a chime of
bells,--a steady ringing, persuasive chime, such as brings tears to the
eyes of many a wanderer, who, hearing a similar sound when far away
from home, straightway thinks of the village church of his earlier
years, . . those years of the best happiness we ever know on earth,
because we enjoy in them the bliss of ignorance, the glory of youth! A
curious stifling sensation began to oppress Theos's heart as he
listened to those bells, . . they reminded him of such strange things,
... things to which he could not give a name,--things foolish, yet
sweet, . . odd suggestions of fair women who were wont to pray for
those they loved, and who believed, . . alas, the pity of it!--that
their prayers would be heard ... and granted! What was it that these
dear, loving, credulous ones said, when in the silence of the night
they offered up their patient supplications to an irresponsive Heaven?
"LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION, BUT DELIVER US FROM EVIL!" Yes! ... he
remembered,--those were the words,--the simple-wise words that for
positive-practical minds had neither meaning nor reason,--and that yet
were so infinitely pathetic in their perfect humility and absolute
trust!
"LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION!" ... He murmured the phrase under his
breath as he gazed with straining eyes out into the languorous beauty
of that garden-scene that spread its dewy, emerald glamour before
him,--and--"deliver us from evil!" broke from his lips in a
half-sobbing sigh, as the peal of the chiming bells softened by degrees
into a subdued tunefulness of indistinct and tremulous semitones, and
the clarion-clearness of the cymbals again smote the still air with
forceful and jarring clangor. Then...like a rainbow-garmented Peri
floating easefully out of some far-off sphere of sky-wonders,--an
aerial Maiden-Shape glided into the full lustre of the varying
light,--a dancer, nude save for the pearly glistening veil that was
carelessly cast about her dainty limbs, her white arms and delicate
ankles being adorned with circlets of tiny, golden bells, which kept up
a melodious jingle-jangle as she moved. And now began the strangest
music,--music that seemed to hover capriciously between luscious melody
and harsh discord,--a wild and curious medley of fantastic, minor
suggestions in which the imaginative soul might discover hints of tears
and folly, love and madness. To this uncertain yet voluptuous measure
the glittering girl-dancer leaped forward with a startlingly beautiful
abruptness,--and halting, as it were, on the boundary-line between the
dome and the garden beyond, raised her rounded arms in a snowy arch
above her head, and so for one brief instant, looked like an exquisite
angel ready to soar upward to her native realm. Her pause was a mere
breathing space in duration, ... dropping her arms again with a swift
decision that set all the little bells on them clashing stormily, she
straightway hurled herself, so to speak, into the giddy paces of a
dance that was more like an enigma than an exercise. Round and round
she floated wildly, like an opal-winged butterfly in a net of
sunbeams,--now seemingly shaken by delicate tremors as aspen leaves are
shaken by the faintest wind, ..now assuming the most voluptuous
eccentricities of posture, . . sometimes bending wistfully toward the
velvet turf on which she trod, as though she listened to the chanting
of demon voices underground, . . and again, with her waving white
hands, appearing to summon spirits downward from their wanderings in
upper air. Her figure was in perfect harmony with the seductive grace
of her gestures,--not only her twinkling feet, but her whole body
danced,--her very features bespoke entire abandonment to the frenzy of
rapid movement,--her large black eyes flashed with something of
fierceness as well as languor; her raven hair streamed behind her like
a dark spread wing, . . her parted lips pouted and quivered with
excitement and ardor while ever and anon she turned her beautiful head
toward the eagerly attentive group of revelers who watched her
performance, with an air of indescribable sweetness, malice, and
mockery. Again and again she whirled,--she flew, she sprang,--and wild
cries of "Hail, Nelida!" "Triumph to Nelida!" resounded uproariously
through the dome. Suddenly the character of the music changed, ... from
an appealing murmurous complaint and persuasion, it rose to a martial
and almost menacing fervor; the roll of drums and the shrill, reedy
warbling of pipes and other fluty minstrelsy crossed the silvery thread
of strung harps and viols, ... the light from the fiery globe shot
forth a new effulgence, this time in two broad rays, one a dazzling,
pale azure, the other a clear, pearly white. Nelida's graceful
movements grew slower and slower, till she merely seemed to sway
indolently to and fro like a mermaid rocking herself to sleep on the
summit of a wave, ... and then,--from among the veiling shadows of the
trees, there stepped forth a man,--beautiful as a sculptured god, of
magnificently moulded form and noble stature, clothed from chest to
knee in a close fitting garb of what seemed to be a thick network of
massively linked gold. His dark hair was crowned with ivy, and at his
belt gleamed an unsheathed dagger. Slowly and with courtly grace he
approached the panting Nelida, who now, with half-closed eyes and
slackening steps, looked as though she were drowsily footing her way
into dreamland. He touched her snowy shoulder,--she started with an
inimitable gesture of surprise, ... a smile, brilliant as morning,
dawned on her face,--withdrawing herself slightly, she assumed an air
of haughtily sweet disdain and refusal, ... then capriciously
relenting, she gave him her hand, and in another instant, to the sound
of a joyous melody that seemed to tumble through the air as billows
tumble on the beach, the dazzling pair whirled away in a giddy waltz
like two bright flames blown suddenly together by the wind. No language
could give an adequate idea of the marvelous bewitchment and beauty of
their united movements, and as they flew over the dark smooth turf,
with the flower-laden trees drooping dewily about them, and the yellow
moonbeams like melted amber beneath their noiseless feet, ... while the
pale sapphire and white radiations from the dome, sparkling upon them
aureole-wise, gave them the appearance of glittering birds circling
through a limitless space of luminous and never-clouded ether. On, on!
... and they scarcely touched the earth as they spun dizzily round and
round, their gracefully entwined limbs shining like polished ivory in
the light, ... on, on!--with ever-increasing swiftness they sped, till
their two forms seemed to merge into one, ... when as though oppressed
by their own abandonment of joy they paused hoveringly, their embracing
arms closing round one another, their lips almost touching, ... their
eyes reflecting each other's ardent looks, ... then, ... their figures
grew less and less distinct, ... they appeared to melt mysteriously
into the azure, pearly light that surrounded them, and finally, like
faint clouds fading on the edge of a sea-horizon, they vanished! The
effect of this brief voluptuous dance, and its equally voluptuous end,
was simply indescribable,--the young men, who had watched it through in
silence and flushed ecstasy, now sprang from their couches with shouts
of rapture and unrestrained excitement, and seizing the other
dancing-maidens who had till now remained in clustered, half-hidden
groups behind the crystalline columns of the hall, whirled them off
into the inviting pleasaunce beyond, where the little white and gold
pavilions peeped through the heavy foliage,--and before Theos, in the
picturesque hurry and confusion of the scene, could quite realize what
had happened, the great globe in the dome was suddenly extinguished,
... a firm hand closed imperiously on his own, and he was drawn along
swiftly, he knew not whither!
A slight tremor shook him as he discovered that Sah-luma was no longer
by his side ... the friend whom he so ardently desired to protect had
gone,--and he could not tell where. He glanced about him,--in the
semi-obscurity he was able to discern the sheen of the lake with its
white burden of water-lilies, and the branchy outlines of the moonlit
garden, ... and ... yes! it was Lysia whose grasp lay so warmly on his
arm, ... Lysia whose lovely, tempting face was so perilously near his
own,--Lysia whose smile colored the soft gloom with such alluring
lustre! ... His heart beat,--his blood burned,--he strove in vain to
imagine what fate was now in store for him. He was conscious of the
beauty of the night that spread its star-embroidered splendors about
him,--conscious too of the vital youth and passion that throbbed
amorously in his veins, endowing him with that keenly sweet, headstrong
rapture which is said to come but once in a lifetime, and which in the
very excess of its fond folly is too often apt to bring sorrow and
endless remorse in its train. One moment more and he found himself in
an exquisitely adorned pavilion of painted silk, faintly lit by one
lamp of tenderest rose lustre, and carpeted with gold-spangled tissue.
It was surrounded by a thicket of orange trees in full bloom, and the
fragrance of the waxen-white flowers clung heavily to the air,
breathing forth delicate suggestions of languor and sleep. The measured
rush of the near waterfall alone disturbed the deep silence, with now
and then the subdued and plaintive trill of a nightingale soothing
itself to rest with its own song in some deep shadowed copse. Here, on
a couch of heaped-up, stemless roses, such as might have been prepared
for the repose of Titania, Lysia seated herself, while Theos stood
gazing at her in fascinated wonderment and gradually increasing
masterfulness of passion. She looked lovelier than ever in that dim,
soft, mingled light of rosy lamp and silver moonbeams,--her smile was
no longer cold but warmly sweet,--her eyes had lost their mocking
glitter, and swam in a soft languor that was strangely
bewitching,--even the Orbed Symbol on her white bosom seemed for once
to drowse. Her lips parted in a faint sigh,--a glance like fire flashed
from beneath her black, silken lashes, ...
"Theos!" she said tremulously. "Theos!" and waited.
He, mute and oppressed by indistinct, hovering recollections, fed his
gaze on her seductive fairness for one earnest moment longer,--then
suddenly advancing he knelt before her, and took her unresisting hands
in his.
"Lysia!"--and his voice, even to his own ears, had a solemn as well as
passionate thrill,--"Lysia, what wouldst thou have with me? Speak! ...
for my heart aches with a burden of dark memories,--memories conjured
up by the wizard spell of thine eyes,--those eyes so cruel-sweet that
seem to lure me to my soul's ruin! Tell me--have we not met before? ...
loved before? ... wronged each other and God before? ... parted before?
... Maybe 'tis but a brain sick fancy,--nevertheless my spirit knows
thee,--feels thee,--clings to thee,--and yet recoils from thee as one
whom I did love in by-gone days of old! My thoughts of thee are
strange, fair Lysia!"--and he pressed her warm, delicate fingers with
unconscious fierceness,--"I would have sworn that in the Past thou
didst betray me!"
Her low laugh stirred the silence into a faint, tuneful echo.
"Thou foolish dreamer!" she murmured half mockingly, half tenderly ...
"Thou art dazed with wine, steeped in song, bewitched with beauty, and
knowest nothing of what thou sayest! Methinks thou art a crazed poet,
and more fervid than Sah-luma in the mystic nature of thine
utterance,--thou shouldst be Laureate, not he! What if thou wert
offered his place? ... his fame?"
He looked at her, surprised and perplexed, and paused an instant before
replying. Then he said slowly:
"So strange a thing could never be ... for Sah-luma's place, once
empty, could not again be filled! I grudge him not his
glory-laurels,--moreover, ... what is Fame compared to Love!" He
uttered the last words in a low tone as though he spoke them to
himself, ... she heard,--and a flash of triumph brightened her
beautiful face.
"Ah! ..." and she drooped her head lower and lower till her dark,
fragrant tresses touched his brow ... "Then, ... thou dost love me?"
He started. A dull pang ached in his heart,--a chill of vague
uncertainty and dread. Love! ... was it love indeed that he felt? ...
love, ... or ... base desire? Love ... The word rang in his ears with
the same sacred suggestiveness as that conveyed by the chime of
bells,--surely, Love was a holy thing, ... a passion pure, impersonal,
divine, and deathless,--and it seemed to him that somewhere it had been
written or said ... "Wheresoever a man seeketh himself, there he
falleth from Love" And he, ... did he not seek himself, and the
gratification of his own immediate pleasure? Painfully he considered,
... it was a supreme moment with him,--a moment when he felt himself to
be positively held within the grasp of some great Archangel, who,
turning grandly reproachful eyes upon him, demanded ...
"Art thou the Servant of Love or the Slave of Self?" And while he
remained silent, the silken sweet voice of the fairest woman he had
ever seen once more sent its musical cadence through his brain in that
fateful question:
"Thou dost love me?"
A deep sigh broke from him, ... he moved nearer to her, ... he entwined
her warm waist with his arms, and stared upon her as though he drank
her beauty in with his eyes. Up to the crowning masses of her dusky
hair where the little serpents' heads darted forth glisteningly,--over
the dainty curve of her white shoulders and bosom where the symbolic
Eye seemed to regard him with a sleepy weirdness,--down to the
blue-veined, small feet in the silvery sandals, and up again to the red
witchery of her mouth and black splendor of those twin fire-jewels that
flashed beneath her heavy lashes--his gaze wandered hungrily,
searchingly, passionately,--his heart beat with a loud, impatient
eagerness like a wild thing struggling in its cage, but though his lips
moved, he said no word,--she too was silent. So passed or seemed to
pass some minutes,--minutes that were almost terrible in the weight of
mysterious meaning they held unuttered. Then, with a half-smothered
cry, he suddenly released her and sprang erect.
"Love!" he cried, ... "Nay!--'tis a word for children and angels!--not
for me! What have I to do with love? ... what hast thou? ... thou,
Lysia, who dost make the lives of men thy sport and their torments thy
mockery! There is no name for this fever that consumes me when I look
upon thee, ... no name for this unquiet ravishment that draws me to
thee in mingled bliss and agony! If I must perish of mine own
bitter-sweet frenzy, let me be slain now and most utterly, ... but Love
has no abiding-place 'twixt me and thee, Lysia! ... Love! ... ah, no,
no! ... speak no more of love ... it hath a charmed sound, recalling to
my soul some glory I have lost!"
He spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he said, and she,
half lying on her couch of roses, looked at him curiously, with somber,
meditative eyes. A smile of delicate derision parted her lips.
"Of a truth, our late feasting hath roused in thee a most singular
delirium!" she murmured indolently with a touch of cold amusement in
her accents--"Thou dost seem to dwell in the Past rather than the
Present! What ails thee? ... Come hither--closer!"--and she stretched
out her lovely arms on which the twisted diamond snakes glittered in
such flashing coils,--"Come! ... or is thy manful guise mere feigning,
and dost thou fear me?"
"Fear thee!"--and stung to a sudden heat Theos made one bound to her
side and seizing her slim wrists, held them in a vise-like grip--"So
little do I fear thee, Lysia, so well do I know thee, that in my very
caresses I would slay thee, couldst thou thus be slain! Thou art to me
the living presence of an unforgotten Sin,--a sin most deadly sweet and
unrepented of, . . ah! why dost thou tempt me!"--and he bent over her
more ardently--"must I not meet my death at thy hands? I must,--and
more than death!--yet for thy kiss I will risk hell,--for one embrace
of thine I will brave perdition! Ah, cruel enchantress!"--and winding
his arms about her, he drew her close against his breast and looked
down on the dreamy fairness of her face,--"Would there WERE such a
thing as Death for souls like mine and thine! Would we might die most
absolutely thus, heart against heart, never to wake again and loathe
eathtypo or archaism? other! Who speaks of the cool sweetness of the
grave,--the quiet ending of all strife,--the unbreaking seal of Fate,
the deep and stirless rest? ... These things are not, and never were, .
. for the grave gives up its dead,--the strife is forever and ever
resumed,--the seal is broken, and in all the laboring Universe there
shall be found no rest, and no forgetfulness, . . ah, God! ... no
forgetfulness!" A shudder ran through his frame,--and clasping her
almost roughly, he stooped toward her till his lips nearly touched
hers, . . "Thou art accursed, Lysia,--and I share thy curse! Speak--how
shall we cheer each other in the shadow-realm of fiends? Thou shall be
Queen there, and I thy servitor,--we will make us merry with the griefs
of others,--our music shall be the dropping of lost women's tears, and
the groans of betrayed and tortured men,--and the light around us shall
be quenchless fire! Shall it not be so, Lysia? ... and thinkest thou
that we shall ever regret the loss of Heaven?"
The words rushed impetuously from his lips; he thought little and cared
less what he said, so long as he could, by speech, no matter how
incoherent, relieve in part, the terrible oppression of vague memories
that burdened his brain. But she, listening, drew herself swiftly from
his embrace and stood up,--her large eyes fixed full upon him with an
expression of wondering scorn and fear.
"Thou art mad!" she said, a quiver of alarm in her voice ... "Mad as
Khosrul, and all his evil-croaking brethren! I offer thee Love,--and
thou pratest of death,--life is here in all the fulness of the now, for
thy delight, and thou ravest of an immortal Hereafter which is not, and
can never be! Why talk thus wildly? ... why gaze on me with so
distraught a countenance? But an hour agone, thou wert the model of a
cold discretion and quiet valor,--thus I had judged thee worthy of my
favor--favor sought by many, and granted to few, . . but an thou dost
wander amid such chaotic and unreasoning fancies, thou canst not serve
me,--nor therefore canst thou win the reward that would otherwise have
awaited thee."...
Here she paused,--a questioning, keen under-glance flashed from beneath
her dark lashes, . . he, however, with pained, wistful eyes raised
steadfastly to hers, gave no sign of apology or contrition for the
disconnected strangeness of his recent outburst. Only he became
gradually conscious of an inward, growing calm,--as though the Divine
Voice that had once soothed the angry waves of Galilee were now hushing
his turbulent emotions with a soft "Peace be still!" She watched him
closely, . .and all at once apparently rendered impatient by his
impassive attitude, she came coaxingly toward him, and laid one soft
hand on his shoulder.
"Canst thou not be happy, Theos?" she whispered gently--"Happy as other
men are, when loved as thou art loved?"
His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpents' heads that crowned
her dusky tresses,--then on the great Eye that stared watchfully
between her white breasts. A strong tremor shook him, and he sighed.
"Happy as other men are, when they love and are deceived in love!"--he
said.. "Yes, even so, Lysia,--I can be happy!"
She threw one arm about him. "Thou shalt not be deceived"--she murmured
quickly,--"Thou shalt be honored above the noblest in the realm, . .
thy dearest hopes shall be fulfilled, . . thy utmost desires shall be
granted, . . riches, power, fame,--all shall be thine,--IF THOU WILT DO
MY BIDDING!"
She uttered the last words with slow and meaning emphasis. He met her
eager, burning looks quietly, almost coldly,--the curious numb apathy
of his spirit increased, and when he spoke, his voice was low and faint
like the voice of one who speaks unconsciously in his sleep.
"What canst thou ask that I will not grant?" he said listlessly.. "Is
it not as it was in the old time,--thou to command, and I to obey? ...
Speak, fair Queen!--how can I serve thee?"
Her answer came, swift and fierce as the hiss of a snake:
"KILL SAH-LUMA!"
The brief sentence leaped into his brain with the swift, fiery action
of some burning drug,--a red mist rose to his eyes,--pushing her
fiercely from him, he started to his feet in a bewildered, sick horror.
KILL SAH-LUMA! ... kill the gracious, smiling, happy creature whose
every minute of existence was a joy,--kill the friend he loved,--the
poet he worshipped! ... Kill him! ... ah God! ... never! ... never! ...
He staggered backward dizzily,--and Lysia with a sudden stealthy
spring, like that of her favorite tigress, threw herself against his
breast and looked up at him, her splendid eyes ablaze with passion, her
black hair streaming, her lips curved in a cruel smile, and the hateful
Jewel on her breast seeming to flash with ferocious vindictiveness.
"Kill him!" she repeated eagerly--"Now--in his sottish slumber,--now
when he hath lost sight of his Poetmission in the hot fumes of
wine,--now, when, despite his genius, he hath made of himself a thing
lower than the beasts! Kill him! ...--I will keep good council, and
none shall ever know who did the deed! He loves me, and I weary of his
love, . . I would have him dead--dead as Nir-jalis! ... but were he to
drain the Silver Nectar, the whole city would cry out upon me for his
loss,--therefore he may not perish so. But an thou wilt slay him, . .
see!" and she clung to Theos with the fierce tenacity of some wild
animal--"All this beauty of mine, is thine!--thy days and nights shall
be dreams of rapture,--thou shalt be second to none in Al-Kyris,--thou
shalt rule with me over King and people,--and we will make the land a
pleasure-garden for our love and joy! 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!--'tis an easy
task,--for lo! how fast he sleeps!"
And suddenly throwing back a rich gold curtain that depended from one
side of the painted pavilion, she disclosed a small interior chamber
hung with amber and crimson, where, on a low, much-tumbled couch
covered with crumpled glistening draperies, lay the King's Chief
Minstrel,--the dainty darling of women,--the Laureate of the realm,
sunk in a heavy, drunken stupor, so deep as to be almost death-like.
Theos stared upon him amazed and bewildered, . . how came he there? Had
he heard any of the conversation that had just passed between Lysia and
himself? ... Apparently not, . . he seemed bound as by chains in a
stirless lethargy. His posture was careless, yet uneasy,--his brilliant
attire was torn and otherwise disordered,--and some of his priceless
jewels had fallen on the couch, and gleamed here and there like big
stray dewdrops. His face was deeply flushed, and his straight dark
brows were knit frowningly, his breathing was hurried and irregular, .
. one arm was thrown above his head,--the other hung down nervelessly,
the relaxed fingers hovering immediately above a costly jewelled cup
that had dropped from his clasp,--two emptied wine flagons lay cast on
the ground beside him, and he had evidently experienced the discomfort
and feverous heat arising from intoxication, for his silken vest was
loosened as though for greater ease and coolness, thus leaving the
smooth breadth of his chest bare and fully exposed. To this Lysia
pointed with a fiendish glee, as she pulled Theos forward.
"Strike now!" she whispered.. "Quick.. why dost thou hesitate?"
He looked at her fixedly, . . the previous hot passion he had felt for
her froze like ice within his veins, ... her fairness seemed no longer
so distinctly fair, . . the witching radiance of her eyes had lost its
charm, . .... and he motioned her from him with a silent gesture of
stern repugnance. Catching sight of the sheeny glimmer of the lake
through the curtained entrance of the tent, he made a sudden spring
thither--dashed aside the draperies, and flung the dagger he held, far
out towards the watery mirror. It whirled glittering through the air,
and fell with a quick splash into the silver-rippled depths,--and,
gravely contented, he turned upon her, dauntless and serene in the
consciousness of power.
"Thus do I obey thee!" he said, in firm tones that thrilled through and
through with scorn and indignation,--"Thou evil Beauty! ... thou fallen
Fairness! ... Kill Sah-luma? ... Nay, sooner would I kill myself...or
thee! His life is a glory to the world, . . his death shall never
profit thee!"...
For one instant a lurid anger blazed in her face,--the next her
features hardened themselves into a rigidly cold expression of disdain,
though her eyes widened with wrathful wonder. A low laugh broke from
her lips.
"Ah!" she cried--"Art thou angel or demon that thou darest defy me?
Thou shouldst be either or both, to array thyself in opposition against
the High Priestess of Nagaya, whose relentless Will hath caused empires
to totter and thrones to fall! HIS life a glory to the world? ..." and
she pointed to Sah-luma's recumbent figure with a gesture of loathing
and contempt, . . "HIS? ... the life of a drunken voluptuary? ... a
sensual egotist? ... a poet who sees no genius save his own, and who
condemns all vice, save that which he himself indulges in! A laurelled
swine! ... a false god of art! ... and for him thou dost reject Me! ...
ah, thou fool!" and her splendid eyes shot forth resentful fire.. "Thou
rash, unthinking, headstrong fool! thou knowest not what thou hast
lost! Aye, guard thy friend as thou wilt,--thou dost guard him at thine
own peril! ... think not that he, . . or thou, ... shall escape my
vengeance! What!--dost thou play the heroic with me? ... thou who art
Man, and therefore NO hero? ... For men are cowards all, except when in
the heat of battle they follow the pursuit of their own brief glory!
... poltroons and knaves in spirit, incapable of resisting their own
passions! ... and wilt THOU pretend to be stronger than the rest? ...
Wilt thou take up arms against thyself and Destiny? Thou madman!"--and
her lithe form quivered with concentrated rage--"Thou puny wretch that
dost first clutch at, and then refuse my love!--thou who dost oppose
thy miserable force to the Fate that hunts thee down!--thou who dost
gaze at me with such grave, child-foolish eyes! ... Beware, . . beware
of me! I hate thee as I hate ALL men! ... I will humble thee as I have
humbled the proudest of thy sex! ..--wheresoever thou goest I will
track thee out and torture thee! ... and thou shalt die--miserably,
lingeringly, horribly,--as I would have every man die could I fulfil my
utmost heart's desire! To-night, be free! ... but to-morrow as thou
livest, I will claim thee!"
Like an enraged Queen she stood,--one white, jewelled arm stretched
forth menacingly,--her bosom heaving, and her face aflame with wrath,
but Theos, leaning against Sah-luma's couch, heard her with as much
impassiveness as though her threatening voice were but the sound of an
idle wind. Only, when she ceased, he turned his untroubled gaze calmly
and full upon her,--and then,--to his own infinite surprise she
shivered and shrank backwards, while over her countenance flitted a
vague, undefinable, almost spectral expression of terror. He saw it,
and swift words came at once to his lips,--words that uttered
themselves without premeditation.
"To-morrow, Lysia, thou shalt claim nothing!" he said in a still,
composed voice that to himself had something strange and unearthly in
its tone ... "Not even a grave! Get thee hence! ... pray to thy gods if
thou hast any,--for truly there is need of prayer! Thou shalt not harm
Sah-luma, . . his love for thee may be his present curse,--but it shall
not work his future ruin! As for me, . . though canst not slay me,
Lysia,--seeing that to myself I am dead already! ... dead, yet alive in
thought, . . and thou dost now seem to my soul but the shadow of a past
Crime, . . the ghost of a temptation overcome and baffled! Ah, thou
sweet Sin!" here he suddenly moved toward her and caught her hands
hard, looking fearlessly the while at her flushed half-troubled
face,--"I do confess that I have loved thee, . . I do own that I have
found thee fair! ... but now--now that I see thee as thou art, in all
the nameless horror of thy beauty, I do entreat,".. and his accents
sank to a low yet fervent supplication--"I do entreat the most high God
that I may be released from thee forever!"
She gazed upon him with dilated, terrified eyes, ... and he dimly
wondered, as he looked, why she should seem to fear him?--Not a word
did she utter in reply, . . step by step she retreated from him, . .
her glittering, exquisite form grew paler and more indistinct in
outline--and presently, catching at the gold curtain that divided the
two pavilions, she paused...still regarding him steadfastly. An evil
smile curved her lips, . . a smile of cold menace and derisive scorn, .
. the iris-colored jewel on her breast darted forth vivid flashes of
azure, and green and gray, . . the snakes in her hair seemed to rise
and hiss at him, . . and then,--with an awful unspoken threat written
resolvedly on every line of her fair features, . . she let the gold
draperies fall softly,--and so disappeared, . . leaving him alone with
Sah-luma! He stood for a moment half amazed, half perplexed,--then,
drawing a deep breath, he pushed the clustering hair off his forehead
with an unconscious gesture of relief. She was gone! ... and he felt as
though he had gained a victory over something, though he knew not what.
The cold air from the lake blew refreshingly on his heated brow, . .
and a thousand odors from orange-flowers and jessamine floated
caressingly about him. The night was very still,--and approaching the
opening of the tent, he looked out. There, in the soft sky gloom, moved
the majestic procession of the Undiscovered Worlds seeming to be no
more than bright dots on the measureless expanse of pure ether, . .
there, low on the horizon, the yellow moon swooned languidly downwards
in a bed of fleecy cloud,--the drowsy chirrup of a dreaming bird came
softly now and again from the deep-branched shadows of the heavy
foliage,--and the lilies on the surface of the lake nodded mysteriously
among the slow ripples, like wise, white elves whispering to one
another some secret of fairyland. And Sah-luma still slept, . . and
still that puzzled and weary frown darkened the fairness of his broad
brow, . . and, coming back to his side, Theos stood watching him with a
yearning and sorrowful wistfulness. Gathering up the jewels that had
fallen out of his dress, he replaced them one by one,--and strove to
re-arrange the tossed and tumbled garb as best he might. While he was
thus occupied his hand happened to touch the tablet that hung by a
silver chain from the Laureate's belt,--he glanced at it, . . it was
covered with fine writing, and turning it more toward the light, he
soon made out four stanzas, perfectly rhymed and smoothly flowing as a
well-modulated harmony. He read them slowly with a faint smile,--he
recognized them as HIS OWN!--they were part of a poem he had long ago
begun, yet have never finished! And now Sah-luma had the same idea! ...
moreover he had chosen the same rhythm, the same words! ... well! ...
after all, what did it matter? Nothing, he felt, so far as he was
concerned,--he had ceased to care for his own personality or
interests,--Sah-luma had become dearer to him than himself!
His immediate anxiety was centered in the question of how to rouse his
friend from the torpor in which he lay, and get him out of this
voluptuous garden of delights, before any lurking danger could overtake
him. Full of this intention, he presently ventured to draw aside the
curtain that concealed Lysia's pavilion, . . and looking in, he saw to
his great relief, that she was no longer there. Her couch of crushed
roses scented the place with heavy fragrance, and the ruby lamp was
still burning, . . but she herself had departed. Now was the time for
escape!--thought Theos--now,--while she was absent,--now, if Sah-luma
could be persuaded to come away, he might reach his own palace in
safety, and once there, he could be warned of the death that threatened
him through the treachery of the woman he loved. But would he believe
in, or accept, the warning? At any rate some effort must be made to
rescue him, and Theos, without more ado, bent above him and called
aloud:
"Sah-luma! ... Wake! Sah-luma!"