The Laureate turned upon him a bewildered, piteous face, white with an intensity of speechless anguish.
"Nothing!"...he faltered,--"Nothing! ... 'tis over, . . the child must die!"...Then all suddenly the hard, drawn lines of his countenance relaxed,--great tears gathered in his eyes, and fell slowly one by one, . . and moving aside, he shrank away as far as possible into the shadow cast by a huge column close by.. "O Niphrata! ... Niphrata!".. Theos heard him say in a voice broken by despair.. "Why do I love thee only now, . . NOW, when thou art lost to me forever!"
The King looked after him half-compassionately, half-sullenly; but presently paid no further heed to his distress. Theos, however, kept near him, whispering whatever poor suggestions of comfort he could, in the extremity of his own grief, devise, . . a hopeless task,--for to all his offered solace Sah-luma made but the one reply: "Oh let me weep! ... Let me weep for the untimely death of Innocence!"
And now the cithern-playing, which had ceased, commenced again, accompanied by the mysterious thrilling bass notes of the invisible organ-like instrument, whose sound resembled the roll and rush of huge billows breaking into foam. As the rich and solemn strains swept grandly through the spacious Temple, Niphrata stretched out her hands toward the High Priestess, a smile of wonderful beauty lighting up her fair child-face.
"Take me, O ye immortal gods!" she cried, her voice ringing in clear tune above all the other music.. "Take me and bear me away on your strong, swift wings to the Everlasting Palaces of Air, wherein all sorrows have end, and patient love meets at last its long-delayed reward! Take me.. for lo! I am ready to depart! My soul is wounded and weary of its prison,--it struggles to be free! O Destiny, I thank thee for thy mercy! ... I praise thee for the glory thou dost here unveil before mine eyes! Pardon my sins! ... accept my life! ... sanctify my love!"
A murmur of relief and rejoicing ran rippling through the listening crowds,--a weight seemed lifted from their minds, . . the victim was willing to die after all! ... the Sacrifice would be proceeded with. There was a slight pause,--during which the priests crossed and re-crossed the Sanctuary many times, one of them descending the steps to tie Niphrata's hands behind her back as before. In the immediate interest of the moment, Sah-luma and his hot interference seemed to be almost forgotten, . . a few people, indeed, cast injured and indignant looks toward the corner where he dejectedly leaned, and once the wrinkled, malicious head of old Zabastes peered at him, with an expression of incredulous amazement,--but otherwise no sympathy was manifested by any one for the popular Laureate's suffering and discomfiture. He was the nation's puppet, . . its tame bird, whose business was to sing when bidden, . . but he was not expected to have any voice in matters of religion or policy,--and still less was he supposed to intrude any of his own personal griefs on the public notice. Let him sing!-- and sing well,--that was enough; but let him dare to be afflicted, and annoy others with his wants and troubles, why then he at once became uninteresting! ... he might even die for all anybody cared! This was the unspoken sullen thought that Theos, sensitive to the core on his friend's behalf, instinctively felt to be smouldering in the heart of the mighty multitude,--and he resented the half- implied, latent ungratefulness of the people with all his soul.