Yet every now and then his thoughts wandered,—­and though he anxiously strove to concentrate his attention on the lovely stanzas that murmured past his ears like the gentle sound of waves flowing beneath the mesmerism of the moon, his brain was in a continual state of ferment, and busied itself with all manner of vague suggestions to which he could give no name.

A great weariness weighed down his spirit—­a dim consciousness of the futility of all ambition and all endeavor—­he was haunted, too, by the sharp hiss of Lysia’s voice when she had said, “Kill Sah-luma!"...Her look, her attitude, her murderous smile, troubled his memory and made him ill at ease,—­the thing she had thus demanded at his hands seemed more monstrous than if she had bidden him kill himself!  For there had been one moment, when, mastered by her beauty and the force of his own passion, he would have killed himself had she requested it...but to kill his adored, his beloved friend! ... ah no! not for a thousand sorceress-queens as fair as she!

He drew a long breath, . . an irresistible desire for rest came over him, . . the air was heavy and warm and fragrant,—­his companion’s dulcet accents served as a lullaby to his tired mind,—­it seemed a long time since he had enjoyed a pleasant slumber, for the previous night he had not slept at all.  Lower and lower drooped his aching lids, . . he was almost beginning to slip away slowly into a blissful unconsciousness, . . when all at once Sah-luma ceased reciting, and a harsh, brazen clang of bells echoed through the silence, storming to and fro with a violent, hurried uproar suggestive of some sudden alarm.  He sprang to his feet, rubbing his eyes,—­Sah-luma rose also, a slightly petulant expression on his face.

“Canst thou do no better than sleep”—­he queried complainingly, “when thou art privileged to listen to an immortal poem?”

Impulsively Theos caught his hand and pressed it fervently.

“Nay, dost thou deem me so indifferent, my noble friend?” he cried ...  “Thou art mistaken, for though perchance mine eyes were closed, my ears were open; I heard thy every word,—­I loved thy every line!  What dost thou need of praise? ... thou, who canst do naught but work which, being perfect, is beyond all criticism!”

Sah-luma smiled, well satisfied, and the little lines of threatening ill-humor vanished from his countenance.

“Enough!” he said..  “I know that thou dost truly honor me above all poets, and that thou wouldst not willingly offend.  Hearest thou how great a clamor the ringers of the Temple make to-night?—­ ’tis but the sunset chime, . . yet one would think they were pealing forth an angry summons to battle.”

“Already sunset!” exclaimed Theos, surprised..  “Why, it seems scarce a minute since, that we came hither!”

“Aye!—­such is the magic charm of poesy!” rejoined Sah-luma complacently..  “It makes the hours flit like moments, and long days seemed but short hours! ...  Nevertheless ’tis time we were within doors and at supper,—­for if we start not soon for the Temple, ’twill be difficult to gain an entrance, and I, at any rate, must be early in my place beside the King.”