"Canst thou do no better than sleep"--he queried complainingly, "when thou art privileged to listen to an immortal poem?"
Impulsively Theos caught his hand and pressed it fervently.
"Nay, dost thou deem me so indifferent, my noble friend?" he cried ... "Thou art mistaken, for though perchance mine eyes were closed, my ears were open; I heard thy every word,--I loved thy every line! What dost thou need of praise? ... thou, who canst do naught but work which, being perfect, is beyond all criticism!"
Sah-luma smiled, well satisfied, and the little lines of threatening ill-humor vanished from his countenance.
"Enough!" he said.. "I know that thou dost truly honor me above all poets, and that thou wouldst not willingly offend. Hearest thou how great a clamor the ringers of the Temple make to-night?-- 'tis but the sunset chime, . . yet one would think they were pealing forth an angry summons to battle."
"Already sunset!" exclaimed Theos, surprised.. "Why, it seems scarce a minute since, that we came hither!"
"Aye!--such is the magic charm of poesy!" rejoined Sah-luma complacently.. "It makes the hours flit like moments, and long days seemed but short hours! ... Nevertheless 'tis time we were within doors and at supper,--for if we start not soon for the Temple, 'twill be difficult to gain an entrance, and I, at any rate, must be early in my place beside the King."
He heaved a short, impatient sigh,--and as he spoke, all Theos's old misgivings came rushing back upon him and in full force, filling him with vague sorrow, uneasiness, fear. But he knew how useless it was to try and impart any of his inward forebodings to Sah-luma,--Sah-luma, who had so lightly explained Lysia's treacherous conduct to his own entire satisfaction, . . Sah-luma, on whom neither the prophecies of Khosrul nor the various disastrous events of the day had taken any permanent effect, . . while no attempt could now be made to deter him from attending the Sacrificial Service in the Temple, seeing he had been so positively commanded thither by Lysia, through the medium of the priest Zel.
Feeling bitterly his own incompetency to exercise any protective influence on the fate of his companion, Theos said nothing, but silently followed him, as he thrust aside the drooping cypress boughs and made his way out to more open ground, his lithe, graceful figure looking even more brilliant and phantom-like than ever, contrasted with the deep green gloom spread about him by the hoary moss-covered trees that were as twisted and grotesque in shape as a group of fetich idols. As he bent back the last branchy barrier however, and stepped into the full light, he stopped short,--and, uttering a loud exclamation, lifted his hand and pointed westward, his dark eyes dilating with amazement and awe.