“Niphrata!”—­continued the Laureate, passionately pressing the little, cold fingers that lay so passively in his grasp..  “Look at me! ...  I have come to save thee! ... to take thee home again, . . home to thy flowers, thy birds, thy harp, . . thy pretty chamber with its curtained nook, where thy friend Zoralin waits and weeps all day for thee! ...  O ye gods!—­how weak am I!".. and he fiercely dashed away the drops that glistened on his black silky lashes, . .  “Come with me, sweet one! ...” he resumed tenderly—­ “Come!—­Why art thou thus silent? ... thou whose voice hath many a time outrivalled the music of the nightingales!  Hast thou no word for me, thy lord?—­Come!".. and Theos, struggling to repress his own rising tears, heard his friend’s accents sink into a still lower, more caressing cadence ...  “Thou shalt never again have cause for grief, my Niphrata, never! ...  We will never part! ...  Listen! ... am I not he whom thou lovest?”

The poor child’s set mouth trembled,—­her beautiful sad eyes gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

“He whom I love is not here!".. she said in tired, soft tones; “I left him, but he followed me; and now, he waits for me...yonder!"..  And she turned resolutely toward the Sanctuary, as though compelled to do so by some powerful mesmeric attraction, . .  “See you not how fair he is!"...and she pointed with her disengaged hand to the formidable python, through whose huge coils ran the tremors of impatient and eager breathing, . .  “How tenderly his eyes behold me! ... those eyes that I have worshipped so patiently, so faithfully, and yet that never lightened into love for me till now!  O thou more than beloved!—­How beautiful thou art, my adored one, my heart’s idol!” and a look of pale exaltation lightened her features, as she fixed her wistful gaze, like a fascinated bird, on the shadowy recess whence the Serpent had emerged—­“There,—­there thou dost rest on a couch of fadeless roses!—­how softly the moonlight enfolds thee with a radiance as of outspread wings!—­I hear thy voice charming the silence! ... thou dost call me by my name, . .  O once poor name made rich by thy sweet utterance!  Yes, my beloved, I am ready! ...  I come!  I shall die in thy embraces, . . nay, I shall not die but sleep! ... and dream a dream of love that shall last forever and ever!  No more sorrow ... no more tears, . . no more heartsick longings ...”

Here she stopped in her incoherent speech, and strove to release her hand from Sah-luma’s, her blue eyes filling with infinite anxiety and distress.

“I pray thee, good stranger,” she entreated with touching mildness,—­“whosoever thou art, delay me not, but let me go! ...  I am but a poor love-sorrowful maid on whom Love hath at last taken pity!—­be gentle therefore, and hinder me not on my way to Sah-luma.  I have waited for happiness so long! ... so long!”

Her young, plaintive voice quavered into a half sob,—­and again she endeavored to break away from the Laureate’s hold.  But he, overcome by the excess of his own grief and agitation, seized her other hand, and drew her close up to him.