The twain walked side by side, exchanging scarcely a word,—­Sah-luma seemed in a manner stunned by the violence of the late catastrophe, and Theos was too busy with his own thoughts to speak.  On their way they were overtaken by the King’s chariot,—­it flew by with a glittering whirl and clatter, amid sweeping clouds of dust, through which the dark face of Zephoranim loomed out upon them like an almost palpable shadow.  As it vanished Sah-luma stopped short, and stared at his companion in utter amazement.

“By my soul!” he exclaimed indignantly..  “The whole world must he going mad!  ’Tis the first time in all my days of Laureateship that Zephoranim hath failed to reverently salute me as he passed!”

And he looked far more perturbed than when the falling Obelisk had threatened him with imminent destruction.

Theos caught his arm with a quick movement of vexed impatience.

“Tush, man, no matter!” he said hastily—­“What are Kings to thee? ... thou who art an Emperor of Song?  These little potentates that wield earth’s sceptres are as fickle in their moods as the very mob they are supposed to govern, . . moreover, thou knowest Zephoranim hath had enough to-day to startle him out of all accustomed rules of courtesy.  Be assured of it, his mind is like a ship at sea, storm-tossed and at the mercy of the winds,—­thou canst not surely blame him, that for once after so strange a turbulence, and unwonted a disaster, he hath no eyes for thee whose sole sweet mission, is to minister to pleasure.”

“To minister to pleasure!".. echoed Sah-luma petulantly..  “Nay, have I done nothing more than this?  Art thou already grown so disloyal a friend that thou wilt half repeat the jargon of yon dead fanatic Khosrul who dared to tell me I had served my Art unfittingly?  Have I not ministered to grief as well as joy?  To hours of pain and bitterness, as well as to long days of ease and amorous dreaming? ...  Have I not...” here he paused and a warm flush crept through the olive pallor of his skin,—­his eyes grew plaintive and wistful and he threw one arm round Theos’s neck as he continued:  “No I.. after all ’tis vain to deny it...I have hated grief,—­I have loathed the very suggestion of care,—­I have thrust sorrow out of my sight as a thing vile and unwelcome,—­and I have chosen to sing to the world of rapture more than pain,—­ inasmuch as methinks Humanity suffers enough, without having its cureless anguish set to the music of a poet’s rhythm to incessantly haunt and torture its already breaking heart.”

“Say rather to soothe and tranquillize”—­murmured Theos, more to himself than to his friend—­“For suppressed sorrow is hardest to endure, and when grief once finds apt utterance ’tis already half consoled!  So should the world’s great singers tenderly proclaim the world’s most speechless miseries, and who knows but vexed Creation being thus relieved of pent-up woe may not take new heart of grace and comfort?”