“Slain me! ...  Me! ... at Lysia’s bidding!” he murmured wildly..  “O ye gods, the world grows dark! is the sun quenched in heaven? ...  At Lysia’s bidding! ..Nay, . . by my soul, my sight is dimmed! ...  I see naught but flaring red in the air, . .  Why! ...” and he laughed discordantly.. “thou poor Theos, thou shalt use no dagger’s point,—­for lo! ...  I am dead already! ...  Thy words have killed me!  Go, . . tell her how well her cruel mission hath sped,—­ my very soul is slain...at her bidding!  Hasten to her, wilt thou!".. and his accents trembled with pathetic plaintiveness! ...  “Say I am gone! ... lost! drawn into a night of everlasting blackness like a taper blown swiftly out by the wind, . . tell her that Sah-luma,—­the poet Sah-luma, the foolish-credulous Sah-luma who loved her so madly is no more!”

His voice broke, . . his head drooped, . . while Theos, whose every nerve throbbed in responsive sympathy with the passion of his despair, strove to think of some word of comfort, that like soothing balm might temper the bitterness of his chafed and wounded spirit, but could find none.  For it was a case in which the truth must be told, . . and truth is always hard to bear if it destroys, or attempts to destroy, any one of our cherished self-delusions!

“My friend, my friend!” he said presently with gentle earnestness,—­“Control this fury of thy heart! ...  Why such unmanly sorrow for one who is not worthy of thee?”

Sah-luma looked up,—­his black, silky lashes were wet with tears.

“Not worthy! ...  Oh, the old poor consolation!” he exclaimed, quickly dashing the drops from his eyes, . .  “Not worthy?—­No! ... what mortal woman is ever worthy of a poet’s love?—­Not one in all the world!  Nevertheless, worthy or unworthy, true or treacherous, naught can make Lysia otherwise than fair!  Fair beyond all fairness! ... and I—­I was sole possessor of her beauty!—­for me her eyes warmed into stars of fire,—­for me her kisses ripened in their pearl and ruby nest, . . all—­all for me!—­and now! ...  “He flung himself desolately on his couch, and fixed his wistful gaze on his companion’s grave, pained countenance,—­till all at once a hopeful light flashed across his features, . . a light that seemed to shine through him like an inwardly kindled flame.

“Ah! what a querulous fool am I!” he cried, joyously,—­so joyously that Theos knew not whether to be glad or sorry at his sudden and capricious change of mood.. “why should I thus bemoan myself for fancied wrong?—­Good, noble Theos, thou hast been misled!—­My Lysia’s words were but to try thy mettle! ... to test thee to the core, and prove thee truly faithful as Sah-luma’s friend!  She bade thee slay me! ...  Even so!—­but hadst thou rashly undertaken such a deed, thine own life would have paid the forfeit!  Now I begin to understand it all—­’tis plain!”—­and his face grew brighter and brighter, as he cheated himself into the pleasing