"Nay, but my lord--" Niphrata ventured to say timidly--"The King dare not lay hands on Khosrul ..."
"Dare not!" laughed Sah-luma lazily stretching out his hand and helping himself to a luscious nectarine from the basket at his side--"Sweet Niphrata! ... settest thou a limit to the power of the King? As well draw a boundary-line for the imagination of the poet! Khosrul may be loved and feared by a certain number of superstitious malcontents who look upon a madman as a sort of sacred wild animal,--but the actual population of Al-Kyris,--the people who are the blood, bone, and sinew of the city,--these are not in favor of change either in religion, laws, manners, or customs. But Khosrul is old,--and that the King humors his vagaries is simply out of pity for his age and infirmity, Niphrata,--not because of fear! Our Monarch knows no fear."
"Khosrul prophesies terrible things!" ... murmured the girl hesitatingly--"I have often thought ... if they should come true. ..."
"Thou timid dove!" and Sah-luma, rising from his couch, kissed her neck lightly, thus causing a delicate flush of crimson to ripple through the whiteness of her skin--"Think no more of such folly-- thou wilt anger me. That a doting graybeard like Khosrul should trouble the peace of Al-Kyris the Magnificent, ... by the gods-- the whole thing is absurd! Let me hear no more of mobs or riots, or road-rhetoric,--my soul abhors even the suggestion of discord. Tranquillity! ... Divinest calm, disturbed only by the flutterings of winged thoughts hovering over the cloudless heaven of fancy! ... this, this alone is the sum and centre of my desires.--and to- day I find that even thou, Niphrata--" here his voice took upon itself an injured tone,--"thou, who art usually so gentle, hast somewhat troubled the placidity of my mind by thy foolish talk concerning common and unpleasant circumstances, ... "He stopped short and a line of vexation and annoyance made its appearance between his broad, beautiful brows, while Niphrata seeing this expression of almost baby-petulance in the face she adored threw herself suddenly at his feet, and raising her lovely eyes swimming in tears, she exclaimed: "My lord! Sah-luma! Singing-angel of Niphrata's soul!--Forgive me! It is true, ... thou shouldst never hear of strife or contention among the coarser tribe of men,--and I, ... I, poor Niphrata, would give my life to shield thee from the faintest shadow of annoy! I would have thy path all woven sunbeams,--thou shouldst live like a fairy monarch embowered 'mid roses, sheltered from rough winds, and folded in loving arms, fairer maybe, hut not more fond than mine!" ... Her voice broke,--stooping, she kissed the silver fastening of his sandal, and springing up, rushed from the room before a word could be uttered to bid her stay.