“Zephoranim!” she cried, “Hero! ...  Warrior! ...  King! ...  Thou who hast risked thy crown and throne and life for my sake and the love of me! ...  Wilt lose me now? ...  Wilt let me perish in these raging flames, to satisfy this wanton liar and unbeliever in the gods, to whose disturbance of the Holy Ritual we surely owe this present fiery disaster!  Save me, O strong and noble Zephoranim! ...  Save me, and with me save the city and the people!  Kill Sah-luma!”

O barbarous, inexorable words!—­they rang like a desolating knell in the ears of the bewildered, fear-stricken Theos, and startled him from his rigid trance of speechless misery.  Uttering an inarticulate dull groan, he made a violent effort to rush forward —­to serve as a living shield of defence to his adored friend, . . to ward off the imminent blow!  Too late! too late! ...  Zephoranim’s dagger glittered in the air, and rapidly descended ...  One gasping cry! ... and Sah-luma lay prone,—­beautiful as a slain Adonis, . . the rich red blood pouring from his heart, and a faint, stern smile frozen on the proud lips whose dulcet singing-speech was now struck dumb forever!  With a shriek of agony, Theos threw himself beside his murdered comrade, . . heedless of King, Priestess, flames, and all the out-breaking fury of earth and heaven, he bent above that motionless form, and gazed yearningly into the fair colorless face.

“Sah-luma! ...  Sah-luma!”

No sign! ...  No tremulous stir of breath!  Dead—­dead,—­dead in his prime of years—­dead in the zenith of his glory!—­all the delicate, dreaming genius turned to dust and ashes! ... all the ardent light of inspiration quenched in the never-lifting darkness of the grave! ... and in the first delirious paroxysm of his grief Theos felt as though life, time, and the world were ended for him also, with this one suddenly destroyed existence!

“O thou mad King!” he cried fiercely, “Thou hast slain the chief wonder of thy realm and reign!  Die now when thou wilt, thou shalt only he remembered as the murderer of Sah-luma! ...  Sah-luma, whose name shall live when thine is covered in shameful oblivion!”

Zephoranim frowned,—­and threw the blood-stained dagger from him.

“Peace, clamorous fool!” he said, “Sah-luma hath gone but a moment before me, . . as Poet he hath received precedence even in death!  When the last hour comes for all of us, it matters not how we die, . . and whether I am hereafter remembered or forgotten I care not!  I have lived as a man should live,—­fearing nothing and conquered by none,—­except perchance by Love, that hath brought many kings ere now to untimely ruin!” Here his moody eyes lighted on Lysia.  “How many lovers hast thou had, fair soul?".. he demanded in a stern yet tremulous voice ...  “A thousand? ...  I would swear this dead Minstrel of mine was one,—­for though I slew him at thy bidding I saw the truth in his dying eyes! ...  No matter!—­ We shall meet in Hades,—­and