"Out of danger and the shadow of death!" replied Theos firmly.. "Thy life is threatened, Sah-luma, and I will not see thee slain! If thou canst not guard thyself, then I must guard thee! … Come, delay no longer, I beseech thee!—do I not love thee, friend?—and would I urge thee thus without good reason? O thou misguided soul! thou dost most ignorantly court destruction, but if my strength can shield thee, thou shalt not die before thy time!"
And he hurried his pace, half leading, half carrying the reluctant poet, who, however, was too drowsy and lethargic to do more than feebly resent his action,—and thus they went together along a broad path that seemed to extend itself in a direct line straight across the grounds, but which in reality turned and twisted about through all manner of perplexing nooks and corners,—now under trees so closely interwoven that not a glimpse of the sky could be seen through the dense darkness of the crossed boughs,—now by gorgeous banks of roses, pale yellow and white, that looked like frozen foam in the dying glitter of the moon,—now beneath fairy-light trellis work, overgrown with jasamine, and peopled by thousands of dancing fire-flies,—while at every undulating bend or sharp angle in the road, Theos's heart beat quickly in fear lest they should meet some armed retainer or spy of Lysia's, who might interrupt their progress, or perhaps peremptorily forbid their departure. Nothing of the kind happened, or seemed likely to happen,—the splendid gardens were all apparently deserted,—and not a living soul was anywhere to be seen. Presently through an archway of twisted magnolia stems, Theos caught a glimpse of the illuminated pool with the marble nymph in its centre which had so greatly fascinated him on his first arrival,—and he pressed forward eagerly, knowing that now they could not be very far from the gates of exit. All at once the tall figure of a man clad in complete armor came into sudden view between some heavily drooping boughs,—it stood out for a second, and then hurriedly disappeared, muffling its face in a black mantle as it fled. Not, however, before Theos had recognized those dark, haughty features, those relentless brows, and that, stern almost lurid smile! … and with a quick convulsive movement he grasped his companion's arm.
"Hist, Sah-luma!" he whispered … "Saw you not the King?"
Sah-luma started as though he had received a dagger thrust, . . his very lips turned pale in the moonlight.
"The KING?" he echoed, with an accent of incredulous amazement … "The
King? … thou art mad! … it could not be! Where didst thou see him?"
In silence Theos pointed to the dark shrubbery. Sahluma shook himself free of his friend's hold, and, standing erect, gazed in the direction indicated, with an expression of mingled fear, distrust, bewilderment, and wrath on his features, . . he was suddenly but effectually sobered, and all the delicate beauty of his face came back like the rich tone of a fine picture restored. His hand fell instinctively toward the jewelled hilt of the poniard at his belt.
"The King?" he muttered under his breath, … "The King? … Then.. is Khosrul right after all, and must one learn wisdom from a madman? … By my soul! … If I thought…" Here he checked himself abruptly and turned upon Theos … "Nay, thou art deceived!" he said with a forced smile.. "'Twas not the King! … 'twas some rash, unknown intruder whose worthless life must pay the penalty of trespass!"—and he drew his flashing weapon from his sheath.. "THIS shall unmask him! … And thou, my friend, get thee away and home, . . fear nothing for my safety! … go hence and quickly; I'll follow thee anon!"
And before Theos could utter a word of warning, he plunged impetuously into the innermost recess of the dense foliage behind which the mysterious armed figure had just vanished, and was instantly lost to sight.
"Sah-luma! … Sah-luma!"—called Theos passionately … "Come back!
Whether wilt thou go? … Sah-luma!"
Only silence answered him,—silence rendered even more profound by the subdued, faint rustling of the wind among the leaves,—and agitated by all manner of vague alarms and dreary forebodings, he stood still for a moment hesitating as to whether he should follow his friend or no. Some instinct stronger than himself, however, persuaded him that it would be best to continue his road,—he therefore went on slowly, hoping against hope that Sah-luma might still rejoin him,—but herein he was disappointed. He waited a little while near the illuminated water, dreamily eying the beautiful marble nymph crowned with her wreath of amethystine flame, . . she resembled Lysia somewhat, he thought,—only this was a frozen fairness, while the peerless charms of the cruel High Priestess were those of living flesh and blood. Yet the remembrance of all the tenderly witching loveliness that might have been his, had he slain Sah-luma at her bidding, now moved him neither to regret nor lover's passion, but only touched his spirit with a sense of bitter repulsion, . . while a strange pity for the Poet Laureate's infatuation awoke in him,—pity that any man could be so reckless, blind, and desperate as to love a woman for her mere perishable beauty of body, and never care to know whether the graces of her mind were equal to the graces of her form.