As he said this he stopped and extinguished the lamp he carried.  There was no longer any need of it, for a broad patch of gray light fell through an aperture in the wall, showing a few rough, broken steps that led upwards,—­and pointing to these he bade the bewildered Theos a kindly farewell.

“Thou wilt find Sah-luma’s palace easily,”—­he said—­“Not a child in the streets but knows the way thither.  Guard thy friend and be thyself also on guard against coming disaster,—­and if thou art not yet resolved to die, escape from the city ere to-night’s sun-setting.  Soothe thy distempered fancies with thoughts of God, and cease not to pray for thy soul’s salvation!  Peace be with thee!”—­

He raised his hands with an expressive gesture of benediction, and turning round abruptly disappeared.  Where had he gone? ... how had he vanished? ...  It was impossible to tell! ... he seemed to have melted away like a mist into utter nothingness!  Profoundly perplexed, Theos ascended the steps before him, his mind anxiously revolving all the strange adventures of the night, while a dim sense of some unspeakable, coming calamity brooded darkly upon him.

The solemn admonitions he had just heard affected him deeply, for the reason that they appeared to apply so specially to Sah-luma,—­ and the idea that any evil fate was in store for the bright, beautiful creature, whom he had, oddly enough, learned to love more than himself, moved him to an almost womanish apprehension.  In case of pressing necessity, could he exercise any authority over the capricious movements of the wilful Laureate, whose egotism was so absolute, whose imperious ways were so charming, whose commands were never questioned?

He doubted it! ... for Sah-luma was accustomed to follow the lead of his own immediate pleasure, in reckless scorn of consequences, —­and it was not likely he would listen to the persuasions or exhortations, however friendly, of any one presuming to run counter to his wishes.

Again and again Theos asked himself—­“If Sah-luma of his own accord, and despite all warning, deliberately rushed into deadly peril, could I, even loving him as I do, rescue him?”—­And as he pondered on this, a strange answer shaped itself unbidden in his brain—­an answer that seemed as though it were spoken aloud by some interior voice..  “No,—­no!—­ten thousand times no!  You could not save him any more than you could save yourself from the results of your own misdoing!  If you voluntarily choose evil, not all the forces in the world can lift you into good,—­if you voluntarily choose danger, not all the gods can bring you into safety!  Free will is the divine condition attached to human life, and each man by thought, word, and deed, determines his own fate, and decides his own future!”

He sighed despondingly, ... a curious, vague contrition stirred within him, ... he felt as though he were in some mysterious way to blame for all his poet-friend’s short-comings!