"Why art thou so unmoved?" he demanded almost sternly.
"What hast thou done to Niphrata, to thus grieve her gentle spirit beyond remedy?"
Sah-luma looked up, like a surprised child.
"Done? … Nay, what should I do? … I have let her love me!"
O sublime permission! … he had "LET HER LOVE" him! … He had condescendingly allowed her, as it were, to waste all the treasures of her soul upon him! Theos stared at him in vague amazement,—while he, apparently tired of his own reflections, continued with some impatience:
"What more could she desire? … I never barred her from my presence, … nor checked the fervor of her greetings! I wore the flowers she chose,—I listened to the songs she sang, and when she looked more fair than ordinary I stinted not the warmth of my caresses. She was too meek and loving for my fancy … no will save mine—no happiness save in my company,—no thought beyond my pleasure—one wearies of such a fond excess of sweetness! Nevertheless her sole delight was still to serve me,—could I debar her from that joy because I saw therein some danger for her peace? Slave as she was, I made her free—and lo! how capriciously she plays with her late-given liberty! 'Tis always the way with women,—no man shall ever learn how best to please them! She knew I loved her not as lovers love,—she knew my heart was elsewhere fixed and fated … and if, notwithstanding this knowledge, she still chose to love me, then assuredly her grief is of her own creating! Methinks 'tis I who am most injured in this matter! … all the day long I have tormented myself concerning the silly maiden's absence, while she, seized by some crazed idea of new adventure, has gone forth heedlessly, scarce knowing whither. Her letter is the exalted utterance of an overwrought, excited brain,—she has in all likelihood caught the contagion of superstitious alarm that seems just now to possess the whole city, and she knows naught of what she writes or what she means to do. To leave me forever, as she says, is out of her power,—for I will demand her back at the hands of Lysia or the King,—and no demand of mine has ever been refused. Moreover, with Lysia's aid, her hiding-place is soon and easily discovered!"
"How?" asked Theos mechanically, still surveying the beautiful, calm features of the charming egotist whose nature seemed such a curious mixture of loftiness and littleness.. "She may have left the city!"
"No one can leave the city without express permission,"—rejoined Sah-luma tranquilly—"Besides, . . didst thou not see the Black Disc last night in Lysia's palace?"
Theos nodded assent. He at once remembered the strange revolving thing that had covered itself with brilliant letters at the approach of the High Priestess, and he waited somewhat eagerly to hear the meaning of so singular an object explained.
"The Priest of the Temple of Nagaya,"—went on Sah-luma—"are the greatest scientists in the world, with the exception of the lately formed Circle of Mystics, who it must be confessed exceed them in certain new lines of discovery. But setting aside the Mystic School, which it behoves us not to speak of, seeing it is condemned by law,—there are no men living more subtly wise in matters pertaining to aerial force and light-phenomena, than the Servants of the Secret Doctrine of the Temple. All seeming-marvellous things are to them mere child's play,—and the miracles by which they keep the multitude in awe are not by any means vulgar, but most exquisitely scientific. As, for instance, at the great New Year Festival, called by us 'The Sailing-Forth of the Ship of the Sun,'—which takes place at the commencement of the Spring solstice, a fire is kindled on the summit of the highest tower, and a Ship of gold rises from the centre of the flames, carrying the body of a slain virgin eastwards, . . 'tis wondrously performed! … and I, like others, have gaped upon the splendor of the scene half-credulous, and wholly dazzled! For the Ship doth rise aloft with excellent stateliness, plowing the air with as much celerity as sailing-vessels plow the seas; departing straightway from the watching eyes of thousands of spectators, it plunges deep, or so it seems, into the very heart of the rising Sun, which doth apparently absorb it in devouring flames of glory, for never again doth it return to earth, . . and none can solve the mystery of its vanishing! 'Tis a graceful piece of jugglery and perfectly accomplished, . . while as for Oracles [Footnote: The Phonograph was known and used for the utterance of Oracles by one Savan the Asmounian, a Priest-King of ancient Egypt.] that command and repeat their commands in every shade of tone, from mild to wrathful, there are only too many of these, . . moreover the secret of their manufacture is well known to all students of acoustic science. But concerning the Black Disc in Lysia's hall, it is a curiously elaborate piece of workmanship. It corresponds with an electric wheel in the Interior Chamber of the Temple, where all the priests and flamens meet and sum up the entire events of the day, both public and private, condensing the same into brief hieroglyphs. Setting their wheel in motion, they start a similar motion in the Disc, and the bright characters that flash upon it and disappear like quicksilver, are the reflection of the working electric wires which write what only Lysia is skilled to read. From sunset to midnight these messages keep coming without intermission,—and all the most carefully concealed affairs of Al-Kyris are discovered by the Temple Spies and conveyed to Lysia by this means. Whatever the news, it is repeated again and again on the Disc, till she, by rapidly turning it with a peculiar movement of her own, causes a small bell to ring in the Temple, which signifies to her informers that she has understood all their communications, and knows everything. Her inquisitorial system is searching and elaborate, . . there is no secret so carefully guarded that the Black Disc will not in time reveal!"