A serious smile of feigned, sorrowful compassion parted the beautiful lips of the Priestess; but she gave no word or sign in answer,—­and the weird Jewel on her breast at that moment shot forth a myriad scintillations as of pointed sharp steel.  Some extraordinary power in it, or in Lysia herself, was manifestly at work,—­for with a violent start Sah-luma rose from his knees, and staggered helplessly backward, . . one hand pressed to his eyes as though to shut out some blinding blaze of lightning!  He seemed to be vaguely groping his way to his former place beside the King, and Theos, seeing this, quickly caught him by the arm and drew him thither, whispering anxiously the while: 

“Sah-luma!-Sah-luma! ...  What ails thee?”

The Laureate turned upon him a bewildered, piteous face, white with an intensity of speechless anguish.

“Nothing!"...he faltered,—­“Nothing! ... ’tis over, . . the child must die!"...Then all suddenly the hard, drawn lines of his countenance relaxed,—­great tears gathered in his eyes, and fell slowly one by one, . . and moving aside, he shrank away as far as possible into the shadow cast by a huge column close by..  “O Niphrata! ...  Niphrata!"..  Theos heard him say in a voice broken by despair..  “Why do I love thee only now, . .  Now, when thou art lost to me forever!”

The King looked after him half-compassionately, half-sullenly; but presently paid no further heed to his distress.  Theos, however, kept near him, whispering whatever poor suggestions of comfort he could, in the extremity of his own grief, devise, . . a hopeless task,—­for to all his offered solace Sah-luma made but the one reply: 

“Oh let me weep! ...  Let me weep for the untimely death of Innocence!”

And now the cithern-playing, which had ceased, commenced again, accompanied by the mysterious thrilling bass notes of the invisible organ-like instrument, whose sound resembled the roll and rush of huge billows breaking into foam.  As the rich and solemn strains swept grandly through the spacious Temple, Niphrata stretched out her hands toward the High Priestess, a smile of wonderful beauty lighting up her fair child-face.

“Take me, O ye immortal gods!” she cried, her voice ringing in clear tune above all the other music..  “Take me and bear me away on your strong, swift wings to the Everlasting Palaces of Air, wherein all sorrows have end, and patient love meets at last its long-delayed reward!  Take me.. for lo!  I am ready to depart!  My soul is wounded and weary of its prison,—­it struggles to be free!  O Destiny, I thank thee for thy mercy! ...  I praise thee for the glory thou dost here unveil before mine eyes!  Pardon my sins! ... accept my life! ... sanctify my love!”