"The tardy Sah-luma!" she said, with an undercurrent of laughter in her musical tones, "the poet who loves the flattery of a foolish king, and the applause of a still more foolish court! And so Khosrul disturbed the flood of thine inspiration to-night, good minstrel? Nay, for that he should die, if for no other crime! And this," here she turned her veiled features toward Theos, whose heart beat furiously as he caught a luminous flash from those half-hidden, brilliant eyes, "this is the unwitting stranger who honored me by so daring a scrutiny this morning! Verily, thou hast a singularly venturesome spirit of thine own, fair sir! Still, we must honor courage, even though it border on rashness, and I rejoice to see that the wrathful mob of Al-Kyris hath yet left thee man enough to deserve my welcome! Nevertheless thou were guilty of most heinous presumption!" Here she extended her jewelled hand. "Art thou repentant? and wilt thou sue for pardon?" Scarcely conscious of what he did, Theos approached her, and kneeling on one knee took that fair, soft hand in his own and kissed it with passionate fervor. "Criminal as I am," he murmured tremulously, "I glory in my crime, nor will I seek forgiveness? Nay, rather will I plead, with thee that I may sin so sweet a sin again, and blind myself with beauty unreproved!" Slowly she withdrew her fingers from his clasp. "Thou art bold!" she said, with a touch of indolent amusement in her accents. "But in thy boldness there is something of the hero. Knowest thou not that I, Lysia, High Priestess of Nagaya, could have thee straightway slain for that unwise speech of thine?--unwise because over-hasty and somewhat over-familiar. Yes, I could have thee slain!" and she laughed,--a rippling little laugh like that of a pleased child. "Howbeit thou shalt not die this time for thy foolhardiness--thy looks are too much in thy favor! Thou art like Sah-luma in his noblest moods, when tired of verse-stringing and sonnet-chanting he condescends to remember that he is not quite divine! See how he chafes at that!" and plucking a lotus-bud she threw it playfully at the Laureate, whose handsome face flushed vexedly at her words. "And thou art prudent, Sir Theos--do I not pronounce thy name aptly?--thou wilt be less petulant than he, and less absorbed in self-adoration, for here men--even poets --are deemed no more than men, and their constant querulous claim to be considered as demi-gods meets with no acceptance! Wilt 'blind thyself with beauty' as thou say'st? Well then, lose thine eyes, but guard thy heart!"