Theos listened wonderingly and with a sense of repugnance and fear, … he felt as though the beautiful Priestess, with her glittering robes and the dreadful jewelled Eye upon her breast, were just then entering the room stealthily and rustling hither and thither like a snake beneath covering leaves. She was an ever-present Temptation,—a bewildering snare and distracting evil,—was it not possible to shake her trail off the life of his friend-and also to pluck from out his own heart the poison-sting of her fatal, terrible fascination? A red mist swam before his eyes—his lips were dry and feverish,—his voice sounded hoarse and faint in his own ears when he forced himself to speak again.
"So thou dost think that, wheresoever Niphrata hath strayed, Lysia can find her?" he said.
"Assuredly!" returned Sah-luma with easy complacency—"I would swear that, even at this very moment, Lysia could restore her to my arms in safety."
"Then why" … suggested Theos anxiously—"why not go forth and seek her now?"
"Nay, there is time!" … and Sah-luma half closed his languid lids and stretched himself lazily. "I would not have the child imagine I vexed myself too greatly for her unkind departure, . . she must have space wherein to weep and repent her of her folly. She is the strangest maiden!" … and he brushed his lips lightly against the golden curl he held,—She loves me, . . and yet repulses all attempted passion,—I remember" … here his face grew more serious—"I remember one night in the beginning of summer,—the moon was round and high in heaven,—we were alone together in this room,—the lamps burned low,—and she.. Niphrata, . . sang to me. Her voice was full, and withal tremulous,—her form, bent to her ebony harp was soft and yielding as an iris stem, her eyes turned upon mine seemed wonderingly to question me as to the worth of love! … or so I fancied. The worth of love! … I would have taught it to her then in the rapture of an hour!—but seized with sudden foolish fear she fled, leaving me dissatisfied, indifferent, and weary! No matter! when she returns again her mood will alter, . . and though I love her not as she would fain be loved, I shall find means to make her happy."
"Nay, but she speaks of dying".. said Theos quickly … "Wilt thou constrain her back from death?"
"My friend, all women speak of dying when they are love-wearied" … replied Sah-luma with a slight smile … "Niphrata will not die, … she is too young and fond of life, … the world is as a garden wherein she has but lately entered, all ignorant of the pleasures that await her there. 'Tis an odd notion that she has of danger threatening me,—thou also, good Theos, art become full of omens,—and yet, . . there is naught of visible ill to trouble the fairness of the day."
He stepped out as he spoke on the terrace and looked up at the intense calm of the lovely sky. Theos followed him, and stood leaning on the balustrade among the clambering vines, watching him with earnest, half-regretful half-adoring eyes. He, meanwhile, gathered a scarcely opened white rosebud and loosening the tress of Niphrata's hair from his fingers, allowed it to hang to its full rippling length,—then laying the flower against it, he appeared dreamily to admire the contrast between the snowy blossom and shining curl.
"Many strange men there are in the world," he said softly—"lovers and fools who set priceless store on a rose and a lock of woman's hair! I have heard of some who, dying, have held such trifles as chiefest of all their worldly goods, and have implored that whereas their gold and household stuff can be bestowed freely on him who first comes to claim it, the faded flower and senseless tress may be laid on their hearts to comfort them in the cold and dreamless sleep from which they shall not wake again!" He sighed and his eyes darkened into deep and musing tenderness. "Poets there have been too and are, who would string many a canticle on this soft severed lock and gathered blossom,—and many a quaint conceit could I myself contrive concerning it, did I not feel more prone to tears to-day than minstrelsy. Canst thou believe it, Theos"—and he forced a laugh, though his lashes were wet, . . "I, the joyous Sah-luma, am for once most truly sad! … this tress of hair doth seem to catch my spirit in a chain that binds me fast and draws me onward.. onward.. to some mournful end I may not dare to see!"
And as he spoke he mechanically wound the golden curl round and about the stem of the rosebud in the fashion of a ribbon, and placed the two entwined together in his breast. Theos looked at him wistfully, but was silent, . . he himself was too full of dull and melancholy misgivings to be otherwise than sad also. Instinctively he drew closer to his friend's side, and thus they remained for some minutes, exchanging no words, and gazing dreamily out on the luxurious foliage of the trees and the wealth of bright blossoms that adorned the landscape before them.