And she sprang eagerly up the second and third steps of the Sanctuary, and faced Lysia,--her head thrown back, her blue eyes ablaze with excitement, her bosom heaving, and her delicate features transfigured and illumined by unspeakable inward delirious bliss. Just then the Priest Zel lifted the long, jewel- hilted knife from the black cushion where it had lain till now, and, crouching stealthily in the shadow behind Lysia, held it in both bands, pointed straight forward in a level line with Niphrata's breast. Thus armed, he waited, silent and immovable.
A slight shudder of morbid expectancy seemed to quiver through the vast congregation, . . but Theos's nerves were strung up to such a high pitch of frenzied horror that he could neither speak nor sigh,--motionless as a statue, he could only watch, with freezing blood, each detail of the extraordinary scene. Once more the High Priestess spoke: "Come hither, O happy Maiden whose griefs are ended: The day of thy triumph and reward has dawned! For thee the Immortals unveiled the mysteries of being,-- To thee, they openly declare all secrets ... To thee the hidden things of Wisdom are made manifest: For the last time ere thou leavest us, hear, and answer, . . Speak!--What seest thou?"
"LOVE!" replied Niphrata in a tone of thrilling and solemn tenderness.. "LOVE, the Eternal All, in which dark things are made light!--Love, that is never served in vain! ... LOVE wherein lost happiness is rediscovered and perfected! ... O DIVINE LOVE, by whom the passion of my heart is sanctified! Absorb me in the quenchless glory of thine Immortality! ... Draw me to Thyself, and let me find in Thee my Soul's completion!"
Her voice sank to a low prayerful emphasis, . . her look was as of a rapt angel waiting for wings. Lysia's gaze dwelt upon her with slow-dilating wonder and contempt.. such a devout and earnest supplication was evidently not commonly heard from the lips of Nagaya's victims. At that instant, too, Nagaya himself seemed curiously excited and disturbed,--his great glittering coils quivered so violently, as to shake the rod on which he was twined, . . and when his Priestess raised her mesmeric reproving eyes toward him, he bent back his head rebelliously, and sent a vehement hiss through the silence, like the noise made by the whirl of a scimitar.
Suddenly, and with deafening abruptness, a clap of thunder, short and sharp as a quick volley of musketry, crashed overhead,-- accompanied by a strange circular sweep of lightning that blazed through the windows of the Temple, illumining it from end to end with a brilliant blue glare. The superstitious crowd exchanged startled looks of terror, . . the King moved uneasily and glanced frowningly about him,--it was plainly manifest that no one had forgotten the disastrous downfall of the Obelisk, ..and there seemed to be a contagion of alarm in the very air. But Lysia was perfectly self-possessed, . . in fact she appeared to accept the threat of a storm as an imposing, and by no means undesirable, adjunct to the mysteries of the Sacrificial Rite, for riveting her basilisk eyes on Niphrata, she said in firm, clear, decisive accents: "The gods grow impatient! ... Wherefore, O Princess and People of Al-Kyris, let us hasten to appease their anger! Depart, O stainless Maid! ... depart hence, and betake thee to the Golden Throne of the Sun, our Lord and Ruler, . . and in the Name of Nagaya, may the shedding of thy virginal blood avert from us and ours the wrath of the Immortals! Linger no longer, . . Nagaya accepts thee! ... and the Hour strikes Death!"