"To the ever-worshiped and immortally renowned "Sah-luma. "Poet-Laureate of the Kingdom of Al-Kyris. "Blame me not, O my beloved Lord, that I have left thy dearest presence thus unwarnedly forever, staying no time to weary thee with my too fond and foolish tears and kisses of farewell! I owe to thee the gift of freedom, and while I thank thee for that gift, I do employ it now to serve me as a sacrifice to Love,--an immolation of myself upon the altars of my own desire! For thou knowest I have loved thee, O Sah-luma--not too well but most unwisely,--for what am I that thou shouldst stoop to cover my unworthiness with the royal purple of thy poet-passion? ... what could I ever be save the poor trembling slave-idolater, of whose endearments thou must needs most speedily tire! Nevertheless I cannot still this hunger of my heart,--this love that stings me more than it consoles,--and out of the very transport of my burning thoughts I have learned many and strange things,--things whereby I, a woman feebled and unlessoned, have grasped the glimmering foreknowledge of events to come,--events wherein I do perceive for thee, thou Chiefest among men, some dark and threatening disaster. When fore I have prayed unto the most high gods, that they will deign to accept me as thy hostage to misfortune, and set me as a bar between thy life and dawning peril, so that I, long valueless, may serve at least awhile to avert doom from thee who art unparagoned throughout the world! "Thus I go forth alone to brave and pacify the wrath of the Immortals,--call me not back nor weep for my departure, . . thou wilt not miss me long! To die for thee, Sah-luma, is better than to live for thee, . . for living I must needs be conquered by my sin of love and lose myself and thee,--but in the quiet Afterwards of Death, no passion shall have strength to mar the peaceful, patient waiting of my soul on thine! Farewell thou utmost heart of my weak heart! ..thou only life of my frail life! ... think of me sometimes if thou will, but only as of a flower thou didst gather once in some past half-forgotten spring-time.. a flower that, as it slowly withered, blessed the dear hand in whose warm clasp it died! "NIPHRATA." Tears rose to Theos's eyes as he finished reading these evidently unpremeditated pathetic words that suggested so much more than they actually declared. He silently returned the scroll to Sah-luma, who sat very still, thoughtfully stroking the long, bright curl that was twisted round his fingers like a glittering strand of spun glass,--and he felt all at once so unreasonably irritated with his friend, that he was even inclined to find fault with the very grace and beauty of his person, . . the mere indolence of his attitude was, for the moment, provoking. "Why art thou so unmoved?" he demanded almost sternly. "What hast thou done to Niphrata, to thus grieve her gentle spirit beyond remedy?"