"Where is Lysia? Was she not here a moment since? ..." and he staggered toward the neighboring pavilion, and dashed the dividing curtain aside ... "Lysia! ... Lysia! ..." he shouted noisily,--then, receiving no answer, he flung himself down on the vacant couch of roses, and gathering up a handful of the crumpled flowers, kissed them passionately,--"The witch has flown!" he said, laughing again that mirthless, stupid laugh as he spoke--"She doth love to tantalize me thus! ... Tell me! what dost thou think of her? Is she not a peerless moon of womanhood? ... doth she not eclipse all known or imaginable beauty? ... Aye! ... and I will tell thee a secret,--she is mine!--mine from the dark tresses down to the dainty feet! ... mine, all mine, so long as I shall please to call her so! ...--notwithstanding that the foolish people of Al-Kyris think she is impervious to love, self-centered, holy and 'immaculate'! Bah! ... as if a woman ever was 'immaculate'! But mark you! ... though she loves me,--me, crowned Laureate of the realm, she loves no other man! And why? Because no other man is found half so worthy of love! All men must love her, . . Nirjalis loved her, and he is dead because of overmuch presumption, . . and many there be who shall still die likewise, for love of her, but I am her chosen and elected one,--her faith is mine!--her heart is mine,--her very soul is mine!--mine I would swear though all the gods of the past, present, and future denied her constancy!"
Here his uncertain, wandering gaze met the grave, pained, and almost stern regard of Theos. "Why dost thou stare thus owl-like upon me?"--he demanded irritably.. "Art thou not my friend and worshipper? Wilt preach? Wilt moralize on the folly of the time,-- the vices of the age? Thou lookest it,--but prithee hold thy peace an thou lovest me!--we can but live and die and there's an end, . . all's over with the best and wisest of us soon,--let us be merry while we may!"
And he tossed a cluster of roses playfully in the air, catching them as they fell again in a soft shower of severed fluttering pink and white petals. Theos listened to his rambling, unguarded words with a sense of acute personal sorrow. Here was a man, young, handsome, and endowed with the rarest gift of nature, a great poetic genius,--a man who had attained in early manhood the highest worldly fame together with the friendship of a king, and the love of a people, . . yet what was he in himself? A mere petty Egoist, . . a poor deluded fool, the unresisting prey of his own passions, . . the besotted slave of a treacherous woman and the voluntary degrader of his own life! What was the use of Genius, then, if it could not aid one to overcome Self, . . what the worth of Fame, if it were not made to serve as a bright incentive and noble example to others of less renown? As this thought passed across his mind, Theos sighed, . . he felt curiously conscience- stricken, ashamed, and humiliated, THROUGH Sah-luma, and solely for Sah-luma's sake! At present, however, his chief anxiety was to get his friend safely out of Lysia'a pavilion before she should return to it, and his spirit chafed within him at each moment of enforced delay.