And Sah-luma still slept, . . and still that puzzled and weary frown darkened the fairness of his broad brow, . . and, coming back to his side, Theos stood watching him with a yearning and sorrowful wistfulness. Gathering up the jewels that had fallen out of his dress, he replaced them one by one,--and strove to re-arrange the tossed and tumbled garb as best he might. While he was thus occupied his hand happened to touch the tablet that hung by a silver chain from the Laureate's belt,--he glanced at it, . . it was covered with fine writing, and turning it more toward the light, he soon made out four stanzas, perfectly rhymed and smoothly flowing as a well-modulated harmony. He read them slowly with a faint smile,--he recognized them as HIS OWN!--they were part of a poem he had long ago begun, yet have never finished! And now Sah-luma had the same idea! ... moreover he had chosen the same rhythm, the same words! ... well! ... after all, what did it matter? Nothing, he felt, so far as he was concerned,--he had ceased to care for his own personality or interests,--Sah-luma had become dearer to him than himself! His immediate anxiety was centered in the question of how to rouse his friend from the torpor in which he lay, and get him out of this voluptuous garden of delights, before any lurking danger could overtake him. Full of this intention, he presently ventured to draw aside the curtain that concealed Lysia's pavilion, . . and looking in, he saw to his great relief, that she was no longer there. Her couch of crushed roses scented the place with heavy fragrance, and the ruby lamp was still burning, . . but she herself had departed. Now was the time for escape!--thought Theos--now,--while she was absent,--now, if Sah-luma could be persuaded to come away, he might reach his own palace in safety, and once there, he could be warned of the death that threatened him through the treachery of the woman he loved. But would he believe in, or accept, the warning? At any rate some effort must be made to rescue him, and Theos, without more ado, bent above him and called aloud: "Sah-luma! ... Wake! Sah-luma!" CHAPTER XX. THE PASSAGE OF THE TOMBS. Sah-luma stirred uneasily and smiled in his sleep.