And now, my dear Villiers, farewell! An answer to this is unnecessary; besides I can give you no address, as it is uncertain where I shall be for the next two or three months. If I don't get as much pleasure as I anticipate from the contemplation of the Babylonian ruins, I shall probably take up my abode in Bagdad for a time and try to fancy myself back in the days of 'good Haroun Alrascheed'. At any rate, whatever becomes of me, I know I have entrusted my Poem to safe hands--and all I ask of you is that it may be brought out with the least possible delay,--for its IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION seems to me just now the most vitally important thing in the world, except ... except the adventure on which I am at present engaged, of which more hereafter, ... when we meet. Until then think as well of me as you can, and believe me "Ever and most truly your friend, "THEOS ALWYN."
This letter finished, folded, and sealed, Alwyn once more took up his manuscript and meditated anew concerning its title. Stay! ... why not call it by the name of the ideal heroine whose heart- passion and sorrow formed the nucleus of the legend? ... a name that he in very truth was all unconscious of having chosen, but which occurred frequently with musical persistence throughout the entire poem. "NOURHALMA!" ... it had a soft sound ... it seemed to breathe of Eastern languor and love-singing,--it was surely the best title he could have. Straightway deciding thereon, he wrote it clearly at the top of the first page, thus: "Nourhalma; A Love Legend of the Past," ... then turning to the end, he signed his own name with a bold flourish, thus attesting his indisputable right to the authorship of what was not only destined to be the most famous poetical masterpiece of the day, but was also to prove the most astonishing, complex, and humiliating problem ever suggested to his brain.
Carefully numbering the pages, he folded them in a neat packet, which he tied strongly and sealed--then addressing it to his friend, he put letter and packet together, and eyed them both somewhat wistfully, feeling that with them went his great chance of immortal Fame. Immortal Fame!--what a grand vista of fair possibilities those words unveiled to his imagination! Lost in pleasant musings, he looked out again on the landscape. The sun had sunk behind the mountains so far, that nothing was left of his glowing presence but a golden rim from which great glittering rays spread upward, like lifted lances poised against the purple and roseate clouds. A slight click caused by the opening of the door disturbed his reverie,--he turned round in his chair, and half rose from it as Heliobas entered, carrying a small richly chased silver casket.