"Kill him!" she repeated eagerly--"Now--in his sottish slumber,-- now when he hath lost sight of his Poetmission in the hot fumes of wine,--now, when, despite his genius, he hath made of himself a thing lower than the beasts! Kill him! ...--I will keep good council, and none shall ever know who did the deed! He loves me, and I weary of his love, . . I would have him dead--dead as Nir- jalis! ... but were he to drain the Silver Nectar, the whole city would cry out upon me for his loss,--therefore he may not perish so. But an thou wilt slay him, . . see!" and she clung to Theos with the fierce tenacity of some wild animal--"All this beauty of mine, is thine!--thy days and nights shall be dreams of rapture,--thou shalt be second to none in Al-Kyris,--thou shalt rule with me over King and people,--and we will make the land a pleasure-garden for our love and joy! Here is thy weapon.."--and she thrust into his hand a dagger,--the very dagger her slave Gazra, had deprived him of, when by its prompt use he might have mercifully ended the cruel torments of Nir-jalis,--"Let thy stroke be strong and unfaltering, . . stab him to the heart,--the cold, cold, selfish heart that has never ached with a throb of pity! ... kill him!-- 'tis an easy task,--for lo! how fast he sleeps!"
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.