A slight tremor shook him as he discovered that Sah-luma was no longer by his side ... the friend whom he so ardently desired to protect had gone,--and he could not tell where. He glanced about him,--in the semi-obscurity he was able to discern the sheen of the lake with its white burden of water-lilies, and the branchy outlines of the moonlit garden, ... and ... yes! it was Lysia whose grasp lay so warmly on his arm, ... Lysia whose lovely, tempting face was so perilously near his own,--Lysia whose smile colored the soft gloom with such alluring lustre! ... His heart beat,--his blood burned,--he strove in vain to imagine what fate was now in store for him. He was conscious of the beauty of the night that spread its star-embroidered splendors about him,--conscious too of the vital youth and passion that throbbed amorously in his veins, endowing him with that keenly sweet, headstrong rapture which is said to come but once in a lifetime, and which in the very excess of its fond folly is too often apt to bring sorrow and endless remorse in its train. One moment more and he found himself in an exquisitely adorned pavilion of painted silk, faintly lit by one lamp of tenderest rose lustre, and carpeted with gold-spangled tissue. It was surrounded by a thicket of orange trees in full bloom, and the fragrance of the waxen-white flowers clung heavily to the air, breathing forth delicate suggestions of languor and sleep. The measured rush of the near waterfall alone disturbed the deep silence, with now and then the subdued and plaintive trill of a nightingale soothing itself to rest with its own song in some deep shadowed copse. Here, on a couch of heaped-up, stemless roses, such as might have been prepared for the repose of Titania, Lysia seated herself, while Theos stood gazing at her in fascinated wonderment and gradually increasing masterfulness of passion. She looked lovelier than ever in that dim, soft, mingled light of rosy lamp and silver moonbeams,--her smile was no longer cold but warmly sweet,--her eyes had lost their mocking glitter, and swam in a soft languor that was strangely bewitching,--even the Orbed Symbol on her white bosom seemed for once to drowse. Her lips parted in a faint sigh,--a glance like fire flashed from beneath her black, silken lashes, ... "Theos!" she said tremulously. "Theos!" and waited. He, mute and oppressed by indistinct, hovering recollections, fed his gaze on her seductive fairness for one earnest moment longer,--then suddenly advancing he knelt before her, and took her unresisting hands in his.