CHAPTER XXII.

Wasted passion.

The assembled maidens had retired modestly into the background, while the Laureate had thus joyously greeted his returned guest; but now, at a signal from their lord, they again advanced, and taking up the glittering dishes of fruit and the flasks of wine, proffered them in turn to Theos with much deferential grace and courtesy.  He was by no means slow in responding to the humble attentions of these fair ones, . . there was a sort of deliciously dreamy enchantment in being waited upon by such exquisitely lovely creatures!  The passing touch of their little white hands that supported the heavy golden salvers seemed to add new savor to the luscious fare,—­the timorous fire of their downcast eyes, softly sparkling through the veil of their long lashes, gave extra warmth to the ambrosial wine,—­and he could not refrain from occasionally whispering a tender flattery or delicate compliment in the ear of one or other of his sylph-like servitors, though they all appeared curiously unmoved by his choicely worded adulation.  Now and then a pale, flickering blush or sudden smile brightened their faces, but for the most part they maintained a demure and serious demeanor, as though possessed by the very spirit of invincible reserve.  With Sah-luma it was otherwise,—­they hovered about him like butterflies round a rose,—­a thousand wistful, passionate glances darted upon him, when he, unconscious or indifferent, apparently saw nothing,—­many a deep, involuntary sigh was stifled quickly ere it could escape between the rosy lips whose duty it was to wreathe themselves with smiles, and Theos noticing these things thought: 

“Heavens! how this man is loved!—­and yet ... he, out of all men, is perhaps the most ignorant of Love’s true meaning!”

Scarcely had this reflection entered his mind than he became bitterly angry with himself for having indulged in it.  How recreant, how base an idea! ... how incompatible with the adoring homage he felt for his friend!  What!—­Sah-luma,—­a Poet, whose songs of Love were so perfect, so wildly sweet and soul-entrancing—­he, to be ignorant of Love’s true meaning? ...  Oh, impossible!—­and a burning flush of shame rose to Theos’s brow,—­ shame that he could have entertained such a blasphemy against his Idol for a moment!  Then that curious, vague, soft contrition he had before experienced stole over him once again—­a sudden moisture filled his eyes,—­and turning abruptly toward his host he held out his own just filled goblet: 

“Drink we the loving-cup together, Sah-luma!” he said, and his voice trembled a little with its own deep tenderness, . .  “Pledge me thy faith as I do pledge thee mine!  And for to-day at least let me enjoy thy boon companionship, . . who knows how soon we may be forced to part ... forever!” And he breathed the last word softly with a faint sigh.