Presently as the anguish of the poisoned victim increased, shriek after shriek broke from his pallid lips, . . rolling himself on the ground like a wild beast, he bit his hands and arms in his frenzy till he was covered with blood, ... and again and yet again the dulcet laughter of the High Priestess echoed through the length and breadth of the splendid hall,—­and even Sah-luma, the poet Sah-luma, condescended to smile!  That smile, so cold, so cruel, so unpitying, made Theos for a moment hate him, . . of what use, he thought, was it, to be a writer of soft and delicate verse, if the inner nature of the man was merciless, selfish, and utterly regardless of the woes of others? ...  The rest of the guests were profoundly indifferent,—­they kept silence, it is true, ... but they went on drinking their wine with perfectly unabated enjoyment.. they were evidently accustomed to such scenes.  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.  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.  He staggered toward Theos, and dropped heavily on his knees, . .

“Kill me!” he moaned piteously, feebly pointing to the sheathed dagger in the other’s belt.  “In mercy! ...  Kill me! ...  One thrust! ... release me! ... this agony is more than I can bear, ...  Kill ...  Kill. ... !”

His voice died away in an inarticulate, gasping cry,—­and Theos stared down upon him in dizzy fear and horror!  For...He had seen this same Nir-jalis dying thus cruelly before!  Oh God! ... where, —­where had this tragedy been previously enacted?  Bewildered and overcome with unspeakable dread, he drew his dagger—­he would at least, he thought, put the tortured sufferer out of his misery, ... but scarcely had his weapon left the sheath, when Lysia’s clear, cold voice exclaimed: 

“Disarm him!” and with the silent rapidity of a lightning-flash, Gazra glided to his side, and the steel was snatched from his hand.  Full of outraged pride and wrath, he sprang up, a torrent of words rushing to his lips, but before he could utter one, two slaves pounced upon him, and holding his arms, dexterously wound a silk scarf tight about his mouth.