Theos yonder, and hast chosen to wear a sprig of my faded crown
for thine adornment--is't not so?" A hot and painful blush
crimsoned Niphrata's face,--a softness as of suppressed tears
glistened in her eyes,--she made no answer, but looked
beseechingly at the little twig Sah-luma held. "Silly child!" he
went on laughingly, replacing it himself against her bosom, where
the breath seemed to struggle with such panting haste and fear--
"Thou art welcome to the dead leaves sanctified by song, if thou
thinkest them of value, but I would rather see the rosebud of love
nestled in that pretty white breast of thine, than the cast-off
ornaments of fame!"

And filling himself a cup of wine he raised it aloft, looking at
Theos smilingly as he did so.

"To your health, my noble friend!" he cried, "and to the joys of
the passing hour!"

"A wise toast!" answered Theos, placing his lips to his own
goblet's rim,--"For the past is past,--'twill never return,--the
future we know not,--and only the present can be called our own!
To the health of the divine Sah-luma, whose fame is my glory!--
whose friendship is dear to me as life!"

And with this, he drained off the wine to the last drop. Scarcely
had he done so, when the most curious sensation overcame him--a
sensation of bewildering ecstasy as though he had drunk of some
ambrosian nectar or magic drug which had suddenly wound up his
nerves to an acute tension of indescribable delight. The blood
coursed more swiftly through his veins,--he felt his face flush