"More wine!" he muttered thickly--"More, . . more I say! What! wilt thou stint the generous juice that warms my soul to song? Pour, . . pour out lavishly! I will mix the honey of thy luscious lips with the crimson bubbles on this goblet's brim, and the taste thereof shall be as nectar dropped from paradise! Nay, nay! I will drink to none but Myself,--to the immortal bard Sah-luma,--Poet of poets,--named first and greatest on the scroll of Fame! ... aye, 'tis a worthy toast and merits a deeper draught of mellow vintage! Fill...fill again!--the world is but the drunken dream of a God Poet and we but the mad revellers of a shadow day! 'Twill pass--'twill pass, . . let us enjoy ere all is done,--drown thought in wine, and love, and music, . . wine and music..." His voice broke in a short, smothered sigh,--Theos surveyed him with mingled impatience, pity, and something of repulsion, and there was a warm touch of indignant remonstrance in his tone when he called again: "Sah-luma! Rouse thee, man, for very shame's sake! Art thou dead to the honor of thy calling, that thou dost wilfully consent to be the victim of wine-bibbing and debauchery? O thou frail soul! how hast thou quenched the heavenly essence within thee! ... why wilt thou be thus self-disgraced and all inglorious? Sah-luma! Sah-luma!"--and he shook him violently by the arm--"Up,--up, thou truant to the faith of Art! I will not let thee drowse the hours away in such unseemliness, . . wake! for the night is almost past,--the morning is at hand, and danger threatens thee,--wouldst thou be found here drunk at sunrise?" This time Sah-luma was thoroughly disturbed, and with a half uttered oath he sat up, pushed his tumbled hair from his brows, and stared at his companion in blinking, sleepy wonderment.