“Everything!".. returned Sah-luma with prompt and passionate fearlessness, his glorious eyes blazing a proud defiance as he spoke..  “Everything that woman can be, or ever shall be, unto man!  Call her by whatsoever name a foolish creed enjoins, . .  Virgin-Daughter of the Sun, or High-Priestess of Nagaya,—­she is nevertheless mine!—­and mine only!  I am her lover!”

“Thou!” and with a hoarse cry, Zephoranim sprang upon, and seized him by the throat..  “Thou liest!  I,—­I, crowned King of Al-Kyris, I am her lover!—­chosen by her out of all men! ... and dost thou dare to pretend that she hath preferred thee, a mere singer of mad songs, to me? ...  Thou unscrupulous knave! ...  I tell thee she is mine! ..  Dost hear me?—­Mine.. mine..  Mine!” and he shrieked the last word out in a perfect hurricane of passion,—­“My Queen.. my mistress!—­heart of my heart!—­soul of my soul! ...  Let the city burn to ashes, and the whole land be utterly consumed, in death as in life Lysia is mine! ... and the gods themselves shall never part her from me!”

And suddenly releasing his grasp he hurled Sah-luma away as he might have hurled aside a toy figure,—­and a peal of reckless musical laughter echoed mockingly through the vaulted shrine.  It was Lysia’s laughter! ... and Theos’s blood grew cold as he heard its cruel, silvery ring ... even so had she laughed when Nir-jalis died!

Sah-luma reeled backward from the King’s thrust, but did not fall,—­white and trembling, with his sad and splendid features, frozen as it were into a sculptured mask of agonized beauty, he turned upon the treacherous woman he loved the silent challenge of his eloquent eyes.  Oh, that look of piteous pain and wonder! a whole lifetime’s wasted opportunities seemed concentrated in its unspeakable reproach!  She met it with a sort of triumphant, tranquil indifference, . . an uncontrollable wicked smile curved the corners of her red lips, . . the sacred Ebony Staff had somehow slipped from her hands, and it now lay on the ground, the half-uncoiled Serpent still clinging to it, in glittering lengths that appeared to be quite motionless.

“Ah, Lysia, hast thou played me false?".. cried the unhappy Laureate at last, as with a quick, impulsive movement, he caught her round jewelled arm in a resolute grip..  “After all thy vows, thy endearments, thy embraces, hast thou betrayed me?  Speak truly! ...  Art thou not all in all to me? ... hast thou not given thyself body and soul into my keeping?  To this braggart King I deign no answer—­one word of thine will suffice! ...  Be brave.. be faithful! ...  Declare thy love for me, even as thou hast oft declared it a thousand remembered times!”

Over the face of the beautiful Priestess swept a strange expression of mingled fear, antagonism, loathing, and exultation.  Her eyes wandered to the red tongued leaping flames that tossed in eddying rings round the Temple, running every second nearer to the place where she stood, and in that one glance she seemed to recognize the hopelessness of rescue and certainty of death.  A careless, haughty acceptance of her fate manifested itself in the pallid resolve of her drawn features, . . but as she allowed her gaze to return and dwell on Sah-luma, the old, malicious mirth flushed and gave lustre to her loveliness, and she laughed again...a laugh of uttermost bitter scorn.