with much active and graceful dexterity,--some were working at
gold and silver embroidery,--others, clustered in a semicircle
round a large osier basket filled with myrtle, were busy weaving
garlands of the fragrant leaves,--and one maiden, seemingly
younger than the rest, and of lighter and more delicate
complexion, leaned somewhat pensively against an ebony-framed
harp, as though she were considering what sad or suggestive chords
she should next awaken from its responsive strings. As Sah-luma
and Theos appeared, these nymphs all rose from their different
occupations and amusements, and stood with bent heads and folded
hands in statuesque silence and humility.

"These are my human rosebuds!" said Sah-luma softly and gayly, as
holding the dazzled Theos by the arm he escorted him past these
radiant and exquisite forms--"They bloom, and fade, and die, like
the flowers thrown by the populace,--proud and happy to feel that
their perishable loveliness has, even, for a brief while, been
made more lasting by contact with my deathless poet-fame! Ah,
Niphrata!" and he paused at the side of the girl standing by the
harp--"Hast thou sung many of my songs to-day? ... or is thy voice
too weak for such impassioned cadence? Thou art pale, . . I miss thy
soft blush and dimpling smile,--what ails thee, my honey-throated
oriole?"

"Nothing, my lord"--answered Niphrata in a low tone, raising a
pair of lovely, dusky, violet eyes, fringed with long black
lashes,--"Nothing,--save that my heart is always sad in thine
absence!"

Sah-luma smiled, well pleased.