Sah-luma laughed again, a little sadly this time, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Believe it not!” he said, and there was a touch of melancholy in his rich voice—­“We are midges in a sunbeam,—­emmets on a sand-hill...no more!  Is there a next world, thinkest thou, for the bees who die of surfeit in the nilica-cups?—­for the whirling drift of brilliant butterflies that sleepily float with the wind unknowing whither, till met by the icy blast of the north, they fall like broken and colorless leaves in the dust of the high-road?  Is there a next world for this?”—­and he took from a tall vase near at hand a delicate flower, lily-shaped and deliciously odorous, . .  “The expression of its soul or mind is in its fragrance,—­even as the expression of ours finds vent in thought and aspiration,—­have we more right to live again than this most innocently fair blossom, unsmirched by deeds of evil?  Nay!—­I would more easily believe in a heaven for birds and flowers, than for women and men!”

A shadow of pain darkened his handsome face as he spoke, . . and Theos, gazing full at him, became suddenly filled with pity and anxiety,—­he passionately longed to assure him that there was in very truth a future higher and happier existence,—­he, Theos, would vouch for the fact!  But how? ... and why? ...  What could he say? ... what could he prove? ...

His throat ached,—­his eyeballs burned, he was, as it were, forbidden to speak, notwithstanding the yearning desire he felt to impart to the soul of his new-found friend something of that indescribable sense of everlastingness which he himself was now conscious of, even as one set free of prison is conscious of liberty.  Mute, and with a feeling as of hot, unshed tears welling up from his very heart, he turned over the volumes of Hyspiros almost mechanically,—­they were formed of sheets of papyrus artistically bound in loose leather coverings and tied together with gold-colored ribbon.

The Kyrisian language was, as has been before stated, perfectly familiar to him, though he could not tell how he had acquired the knowledge of it,—­and he was able to see at a glance that Sah-luma had good cause to be enthusiastic in his praise of the author whose genius he so fervently admired.  There was a ringing richness in the rush of the verse,—­a wealth of simile combined with a simplicity and directness of utterance that charmed the ear while influencing the mind, and he was beginning to read in sotto-voce the opening lines of a spirited battle-challenge running thus: 

    “I tell thee, O thou pride enthroned King
     That from these peaceful fields, these harvest lands,
     Strange crops shall spring, not sown by thee or thine! 
     Arm’d millions, bristling weapons, helmed men
     Dreadfully plum’d and eager for the fray,
     Steel crested myrmidons, toss’d spears, wild steeds,
     Uplifted flags and pennons, horrid swords,
     Death gleaming eyes, stern hands to grasp and tear
     Life from beseeching life, till all the heavens
     Strike havoc to the terror-trembling stars"...