"What art thou?" he demanded ... "What is thy calling?"
"Theos hesitated,--then spoke out boldly and unthinkingly-"I am a Poet!" he said.
A murmur of irrepressible laughter and derision ran through the listening crowd. Sah-luma's lip curled haughtily-"A Poet!" and his fingers played idly with the dagger at his belt --"Nay, not so! There is but one Poet in Al-Kyris, and I am he!"
Theos looked at him steadily,--a subtle sympathy attracted him toward this charming boaster,--involuntarily he smiled, and bent his head courteously.
"I do not seek to figure as your rival ..." he began.
"Rival!" echoed Sah-luma--"I have no rivals!"
A burst of applause from those nearest to them in the throng declared the popular approval of this assertion, and the boy bearing the harp, who had loitered to listen to the conversation, swept the strings of his instrument with a triumphant force and fervor that showed how thoroughly his feelings were in harmony with the expression of his master's sentiments. Sah-luma conquered, with an effort, his momentary irritation, and resumed coldly: "From whence do you come, fair sir? We should know your name,-- POETS are not so common!" This with an accent of irony.
Taken aback by the question, Theos stood irresolute, and uncertain what to say. For he was afflicted with a strange and terrible malady such as he dimly remembered having heard of, but never expected to suffer from,--a malady in which his memory had become almost a blank as regarded the past events of his life--though every now and then shadowy images of by-gone things flitted across his brain, like the transient reflections of wind-swept clouds on still, translucent water. Presently in the midst of his painful indecision, an answer suggested itself like a whispered hint from some invisible prompter: "Poets like Sah-luma are no doubt as rare as nightingales in snow!" he said with a soft deference, and an increasing sense of tenderness for his haughty, handsome interlocutor--"As for me, I am a singer of sad songs that are not worth the hearing! My name is Theos,--I come from far beyond the seas, and am a stranger in Al-Kyris,--therefore if I have erred in aught, I must be blamed for ignorance, not malice!"
As he spoke Sah-luma regarded him intently,--Theos met his gaze frankly and unflinchingly. Surely there was some singular power of attraction between the two! ... for as their flashing eyes again dwelt earnestly on one another, they both smiled, and Sah-luma, advancing, proffered his hand. Theos at once accepted it, a curious sensation of pleasure tingling through his frame, as he pressed those slender blown fingers in his own cordial clasp.