“Haille! Haille! Haille! Setos sent to deliver us from peril!” cried a company of warriors who were escorting Rahula home from the theater.
“Haille, Setos! Chief of the Turghati—men loyal to the true faith of Atlantis!” exclaimed Rahula, whose disordered dress, sparkling eyes, and flushed cheeks, bespoke her excitement. When she approached Setos, she was trembling violently, but every sense was on the alert.
“Thou who art the man of destiny, come with me,” she continued. “I will tell thee all that has happened.”
“Rahula, the silver-tongued, is thy worthy forerunner, as Mercury is of the sun. Go with her and then come to the Observatory. Thy presence will put heart into the wavering ones, who are in consultation. Thou mayst depend upon us.”
The crowd was noisy and unruly, but Setos understood that the warriors would hold them in check. He followed Rahula indoors. Acting on the impulse of the moment, Setos drew Rahula to him and kissed her passionately.
If he had been blind before, he certainly knew now, and he suddenly realized that she was necessary to his success.
“Thou art worthy of my best love,” he said, “and thou shalt command it. Open thy heart to me.”
“Thou hast surprised its secret, and made me forget our danger. Death were not unwelcome in this guise,” she murmured, nestling down closer in his arms.
“Thy lips must pay forfeit for speech once more, and then thy sweet voice must quell this inward tumult. I could drowse like a sleepy god in thy embrace.”
“Duty stern and uncompromising faces us, and we must yield to other influences,” said Rahula, slipping out of his arms. “The die is cast, and thou must not falter or linger in sweet dalliance.”