"Thou mad Theos! Whither art thou bound?" cried the Laureate mirthfully. "Wilt leave our noble hostess ere the entertainment has begun? Ungallant barbarian! What frenzy possesses thee?"
These words recalled him to himself. He came back slowly step by step, and with bowed head, to where Lysia stood--Lysia, whose penetrating gaze still rested upon him with strangely fixed intensity.
"Forgive me," he said, in a low, unsteady voice that to his own ears sounded full of suppressed yet passionate appeal. "Forgive me, lady, that for one moment I have seemed discourteous. I am not so, in very truth. Sad fancies fret my brain at times, and--and there is that within thine unveiled beauty which sword-like wounds my soul! I am not joyous natured: ...unlike Sah-luma, chosen favorite of fortune, I have lost all, all that made my life once seem fair. I am dead to those that loved me, ... forgotten by those that honored me, . . a wanderer in strange lands, a solitary wayfarer perplexed with many griefs to which I cannot give a name! Nevertheless," and he drew a quick, hard breath, "if I may serve thee, fairest Lysia,--as Sah-luma serves thee,--subject to thy sovereign favor,--thou shalt not find me lacking in obedience! Command me as thou wilt; let me efface myself to worship thee! Let me, if it be possible, drown thought,--slay memory,--murder conscience,--so that I may once more, as in the old time, be glad with the gladness that only love can give and only death can take away!"
As he finished this unpremeditated, uncontrollable outburst his eyes wistfully sought hers. She met his look with a languid indifference and a half-disdainful smile.
"Enough! restrain thine ardor!" she said coldly, her dark dilating orbs shining like steel beneath the velvet softness of her long lashes. "Thou dost speak ignorantly, unknowing what thy words involve--words to which I well might bind thee, were I less forbearing to thine inconsiderate rashness. How like all men thou art! How keen to plunge into unfathomed deeps, merely to snatch the pearl of present pleasure! How martyr-seeming in thy fancied sufferings, as though THY little wave of personal sorrow swamped the world! O wondrous human Egotism! that sees but one great absolute 'I' scrawled on the face of Nature! 'I' am afflicted, let none dare to rejoice! 'I' would be glad, let none presume to grieve!" ... She laughed, a little low laugh of icy satire, and then resumed: "I thank thee for thy proffered service, sir stranger, albeit I need it not,--nor do I care to claim it at thy hands. Thou art my guest--no more! Whether thou wilt hereafter deserve to be enrolled my bondsman depends upon thy prowess and-- my humor!"