for a moment or so a deep silence reigned,—­silence apparently born of superstitious dread inspired by the mere fact of his presence.  Zephoranim’s glance rested upon him with cold and supercilious indifference,—­seated haughtily upright in his throne, with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he showed no sign of anger against, or interest in, his prisoner, save that, to the observant eye of Theos, the veins in his forehead seemed to become suddenly knotted and swollen, while the jewels on his bare chest heaved restlessly up and down with the unquiet panting of his quickened breath.

“We give thee greeting, Khosrul!” he said slowly and with a sinister smile—­“The Lion’s paw has struck thee down at last!  Too long hast thou trifled with our patience,—­thou must abjure thy heresies, or die!  What sayest thou now of doom,—­of judgment,—­of the waning of glory?  Wilt prophesy? ... wilt denounce the Faith? ...  Wilt mislead the people? ...  Wilt curse the King? ...  Thou mad sorcerer!—­devil bewitched and blasphemous! ...  What shall hinder me from at once slaying thee?” And he half drew his formidable sword from its sheath.

Khosrul met his threatening gaze unflinchingly.

“Nothing shall hinder thee, Zephoranim,” he replied, and his voice, deeply musical and resonant, struck to Theos’s heart with a strange, foreboding chill—­“Nothing—­save thine own scorn of cowardice!”

The monarch’s hand fell from his sword-hilt,—­a flush of shame reddened his dark face.  He bent his fiery eyes full on the captive—­and there was something in the sorrowful grandeur of the old man’s bearing, coupled with his enfeebled and defenceless condition, that seemed to touch him with a sense of compassion, for, turning suddenly to the armed guard, he raised his hand with a gesture of authority ...

“Unloose his fetters!” he commanded.

The men hesitated, apparently doubting whether they had heard aright.

Zephoranim stamped his foot impatiently.

“Unloose him, I say! ...  By the gods! must I repeat the same thing twice?  Since when have soldiers grown deaf to the voice of their sovereign? ...  And why have ye bound this aged fool with such many and tight bonds?  His veins and sinews are not of iron,—­methinks ye might have tied him with thread and met with small resistance!  I have known many a muscular deserter from the army fastened less securely when captured!  Unloose him—­and quickly too!—­Our pleasure is that, ere he dies, he shall speak an he will, in his own defence as a free man.”

In trembling haste and eagerness the guards at once set to work to obey this order.  The twisted cords were untied, the heavy iron fetters wrenched asunder,—­and in a very short space Khosrul stood at comparative liberty.  At first he did not seem to understand the King’s generosity toward him in this respect, for he made no attempt to move,—­his limbs were rigidly composed as though they were still bound,—­and