A shudder, as of extreme cold, ran through Theos’s veins, and as if impelled on by some invisible monitor he said almost mournfully: 

“Art thou sure, Sah-luma, thou dost not instinctively feel that there is a Higher Power hidden behind the veil of visible Nature? —­and that in the Far Beyond there may be an Eternity of Joy where thou shalt find all thy grandest aspirations at last fulfilled?”

Sah-luma laughed,—­a clear, vibrating laugh as mellow as the note of a thrush in spring-time.

“Thou solemn soul!” he exclaimed mirthfully—­“My aspirations are fulfilled!—­I aspire to no more than fame,—­and that I hold,—­that I shall keep so long as this world is lighted by the sun!”

“And what use is Fame to thee in Death!” demanded Theos with sudden and emphatic earnestness.

Sah-luma stood still,—­over his beautiful face came a shadow of intense melancholy,—­he raised his brilliant eyes full of wistful pathos and pleading.

“I pray thee do not make me sad, my friend!” he murmured tremulously—­“These thoughts are like muttering thunder in my heaven!  Death!".. and a quick sigh escaped him—­“’Twill be the breaking of my harp and heart! ... the last note of my failing voice and eversilenced song!”

A moisture as of tears glistened on the silky fringe of his eyelids,—­his lips quivered,—­he had the look of a Narcissus regretfully bewailing his own perishable loveliness.  On a swift impulse of affection Theos threw one arm round, his neck in the fashion of a confiding school-boy walking with his favorite companion.

“Nay, thou shalt never die, Sah-luma!” he said with a sort of passionate eagerness,—­“Thy bright soul shall live forever in a sunshine sweeter than that of earth’s fairest midsummer noon!  Thy song can never be silenced while heaven pulsates with the unwritten music of the spheres,—­and even were the crown of immortality denied to lesser men, it is, it must be the heritage of the poet!  For to him all crowns belong, all kingdoms are thrown open, all barriers broken down,—­even those that divide us from the Unseen,—­and God Himself has surely a smile to spare for His Singers who have made the sad world joyful if only for an hour!”

Sah-luma looked up with a pleased yet wondering glance.

“Thou hast a silvery and persuasive tongue!” he said gently—­“And thou speakest of God as if thou knewest one akin to Him.  Would I could believe all thou sayest! ... but alas!—­I cannot.  We have progressed too far in knowledge, my friend, for faith. ... yet...”  He hesitated a moment, then with a touch of caressing entreaty in his tone went on. ...  “Thinkest thou in very truth that I shall live again?  For I confess to thee, it seems beyond all things strange and terrible to feel that this genius of mine,—­this spirit of melody which inhabits my frame, should perish utterly without further scope for its abilities.  There have been moments when my soul, ravished by