"Thus I go forth alone to brave and pacify the wrath of the Immortals,--call me not back nor weep for my departure, . . thou wilt not miss me long! To die for thee, Sah-luma, is better than to live for thee, . . for living I must needs be conquered by my sin of love and lose myself and thee,--but in the quiet Afterwards of Death, no passion shall have strength to mar the peaceful, patient waiting of my soul on thine! Farewell thou utmost heart of my weak heart! ..thou only life of my frail life! ... think of me sometimes if thou will, but only as of a flower thou didst gather once in some past half-forgotten spring-time.. a flower that, as it slowly withered, blessed the dear hand in whose warm clasp it died! "NIPHRATA."
Tears rose to Theos's eyes as he finished reading these evidently unpremeditated pathetic words that suggested so much more than they actually declared. He silently returned the scroll to Sah- luma, who sat very still, thoughtfully stroking the long, bright curl that was twisted round his fingers like a glittering strand of spun glass,--and he felt all at once so unreasonably irritated with his friend, that he was even inclined to find fault with the very grace and beauty of his person, . . the mere indolence of his attitude was, for the moment, provoking.
"Why art thou so unmoved?" he demanded almost sternly.
"What hast thou done to Niphrata, to thus grieve her gentle spirit beyond remedy?"
Sah-luma looked up, like a surprised child.
"Done? ... Nay, what should I do? ... I have let her love me!"
O sublime permission! ... he had "LET HER LOVE" him! ... He had condescendingly allowed her, as it were, to waste all the treasures of her soul upon him! Theos stared at him in vague amazement,--while he, apparently tired of his own reflections, continued with some impatience: "What more could she desire? ... I never barred her from my presence, ... nor checked the fervor of her greetings! I wore the flowers she chose,--I listened to the songs she sang, and when she looked more fair than ordinary I stinted not the warmth of my caresses. She was too meek and loving for my fancy ... no will save mine--no happiness save in my company,--no thought beyond my pleasure--one wearies of such a fond excess of sweetness! Nevertheless her sole delight was still to serve me,--could I debar her from that joy because I saw therein some danger for her peace? Slave as she was, I made her free--and lo! how capriciously she plays with her late-given liberty! 'Tis always the way with women,--no man shall ever learn how best to please them! She knew I loved her not as lovers love,--she knew my heart was elsewhere fixed and fated ... and if, notwithstanding this knowledge, she still chose to love me, then assuredly her grief is of her own creating! Methinks 'tis I who am most injured in this matter! ... all the day long I have tormented myself concerning the silly maiden's absence, while she, seized by some crazed idea of new adventure, has gone forth heedlessly, scarce knowing whither. Her letter is the exalted utterance of an overwrought, excited brain, --she has in all likelihood caught the contagion of superstitious alarm that seems just now to possess the whole city, and she knows naught of what she writes or what she means to do. To leave me forever, as she says, is out of her power,--for I will demand her back at the hands of Lysia or the King,--and no demand of mine has ever been refused. Moreover, with Lysia's aid, her hiding-place is soon and easily discovered!"