And suddenly throwing back a rich gold curtain that depended from one side of the painted pavilion, she disclosed a small interior chamber hung with amber and crimson, where, on a low, much-tumbled couch covered with crumpled glistening draperies, lay the King's Chief Minstrel,--the dainty darling of women,--the Laureate of the realm, sunk in a heavy, drunken stupor, so deep as to be almost death-like. Theos stared upon him amazed and bewildered, . . how came he there? Had he heard any of the conversation that had just passed between Lysia and himself? ... Apparently not, . . he seemed bound as by chains in a stirless lethargy. His posture was careless, yet uneasy,--his brilliant attire was torn and otherwise disordered,--and some of his priceless jewels had fallen on the couch, and gleamed here and there like big stray dewdrops. His face was deeply flushed, and his straight dark brows were knit frowningly, his breathing was hurried and irregular, . . one arm was thrown above his head,--the other hung down nervelessly, the relaxed fingers hovering immediately above a costly jewelled cup that had dropped from his clasp,--two emptied wine flagons lay cast on the ground beside him, and he had evidently experienced the discomfort and feverous heat arising from intoxication, for his silken vest was loosened as though for greater ease and coolness, thus leaving the smooth breadth of his chest bare and fully exposed. To this Lysia pointed with a fiendish glee, as she pulled Theos forward. "Strike now!" she whispered.. "Quick.. why dost thou hesitate?" He looked at her fixedly, . . the previous hot passion he had felt for her froze like ice within his veins, ... her fairness seemed no longer so distinctly fair, . . the witching radiance of her eyes had lost its charm, . .... and he motioned her from him with a silent gesture of stern repugnance. Catching sight of the sheeny glimmer of the lake through the curtained entrance of the tent, he made a sudden spring thither--dashed aside the draperies, and flung the dagger he held, far out towards the watery mirror. It whirled glittering through the air, and fell with a quick splash into the silver-rippled depths,--and, gravely contented, he turned upon her, dauntless and serene in the consciousness of power. "Thus do I obey thee!" he said, in firm tones that thrilled through and through with scorn and indignation,--"Thou evil Beauty! ... thou fallen Fairness! ... Kill Sah-luma? ... Nay, sooner would I kill myself...or thee! His life is a glory to the world, . . his death shall never profit thee!"... For one instant a lurid anger blazed in her face,--the next her features hardened themselves into a rigidly cold expression of disdain, though her eyes widened with wrathful wonder. A low laugh broke from her lips.