Warmed by enthusiasm, with his eyes flashing and the impetuous words coursing from his lips, his head thrown back, his hand uplifted, Sah-luma looked magnificent,--and Theos, to whose misty brain the names of Oruzel and Hyspiros carried no positively distinct meaning, was nevertheless struck by a certain suggestiveness in his remarks that seemed to bear on some discussion in the literary world that had taken place quite recently. He was puzzled and tried to fix the precise point round which his thoughts strayed so hesitatingly, but he could arrive at no definite conclusion. The brilliant, meteor-like Sah-luma meantime flashed hither and thither about the room, selecting certain volumes from his loaded book-stands, and bringing them in a pile, he set them on a small table by his visitor's side.
"These are some of the earliest editions of the plays of Hyspiros"--he went on, talking in that rapid, fluent way of his that was as musical as a bird's song--"They are rare and curious. See you!--the names of the scribes and the dates of issue are all distinct. Ah!--the treasures of poetry enshrined within these pages! ... was ever papyrus so gemmed with pearls of thought and wisdom?--If there were a next world, my friend,"--and here he placed his hand familiarly on his guest's shoulder, while the bright, steel-gray under-gleam sparkled in his splendid eyes-- "'twould be worth dwelling in for the sake of Hyspiros,--as grand a god as any of the Thunderers in the empyrean!"
"Surely there is a next world"--murmured Theos, scarcely knowing what he said--"A world where thou and I, Sah-luma, and all the masters and servants of song shall meet and hold high festival!"
Sah-luma laughed again, a little sadly this time, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Believe it not!" he said, and there was a touch of melancholy in his rich voice--"We are midges in a sunbeam,--emmets on a sand- hill...no more! Is there a next world, thinkest thou, for the bees who die of surfeit in the nilica-cups?--for the whirling drift of brilliant butterflies that sleepily float with the wind unknowing whither, till met by the icy blast of the north, they fall like broken and colorless leaves in the dust of the high-road? Is there a next world for this?"--and he took from a tall vase near at hand a delicate flower, lily-shaped and deliciously odorous, . . "The expression of its soul or mind is in its fragrance,--even as the expression of ours finds vent in thought and aspiration,--have we more right to live again than this most innocently fair blossom, unsmirched by deeds of evil? Nay!--I would more easily believe in a heaven for birds and flowers, than for women and men!"