Slowly she withdrew her fingers from his clasp.
"Thou art bold!" she said, with a touch of indolent amusement in her accents. "But in thy boldness there is something of the hero. Knowest thou not that I, Lysia, High Priestess of Nagaya, could have thee straightway slain for that unwise speech of thine?-- unwise because over-hasty and somewhat over-familiar. Yes, I could have thee slain!" and she laughed,--a rippling little laugh like that of a pleased child. "Howbeit thou shalt not die this time for thy foolhardiness--thy looks are too much in thy favor! Thou art like Sah-luma in his noblest moods, when tired of verse-stringing and sonnet-chanting he condescends to remember that he is not quite divine! See how he chafes at that!" and plucking a lotus-bud she threw it playfully at the Laureate, whose handsome face flushed vexedly at her words. "And thou art prudent, Sir Theos--do I not pronounce thy name aptly?--thou wilt be less petulant than he, and less absorbed in self-adoration, for here men--even poets --are deemed no more than men, and their constant querulous claim to be considered as demi-gods meets with no acceptance! Wilt 'blind thyself with beauty' as thou say'st? Well then, lose thine eyes, but guard thy heart!"
And with a careless movement she loosened her veil; it fell from her like a soft cloud, and Theos, springing to his feet, gazed upon her with a sense of enraptured bewilderment and passionate pain. It was as though he saw the wraith of some fair, dead woman he had loved of old, risen anew to redemand from him his former allegiance. O, unfamiliar yet well-known face! ... O, slumbrous, starry eyes that seemed to hold the memory of a thousand love- thoughts! ... O, sweet curved lips whereon a delicious smile rested as softly as sunlight on young rose-petals! Where, . . where, in God's name, had he seen all this marvelous, witching, maddening loveliness BEFORE? His heart beat with heavy, laboring thuds, . . his brain reeled, . . a dim, golden, suffused radiance seemed to hover like an aureole above that dazzling white brow, adorned with a clustering wealth of raven-black tresses, whose massive coils were crowned with the strangest sort of diadem--a wreath of small serpents' heads cunningly fashioned in rubies and rose brilliants, and set in such a manner that they appeared to lift themselves erect from out the dusky hair as though in darting readiness to sting. Full of a vague, wild longing, he instinctively stretched out his arms, . . then on a sudden impulse turned swiftly away, in a dizzy effort to escape from the basilisk fire-gleam of those sombre, haunting eyes that plunged into his inmost soul, and there aroused such dark desires, such retrospective evil, such wild weakness as shamed the betterness of his nature! Sah-luma's clear, mocking laugh just then rang sharply through the perfumed stillness.