"Nay, nay!--we will not seek to pry into the cause of thy spirit's
heaviness...Enough! think no more of our thoughtless question,--
there is a sacredness in sorrow! Nevertheless we shall strive to
make thee in part forget thy grief ere thou leavest our court and
city, . . meanwhile sit thou there"--and he pointed to the lower
step of the dais, . . "And thou, Sah-luma, sing again, and this time
let thy song he set to a less plaintive key."

He leaned hack in his throne, and Theos sat wearily down among the
flowers at the foot of the dais as commanded. He was possessed by
a strange, inward dread,--the dread of altogether losing the
consciousness of his own identity,--and while he strove to keep a
firm grasp on his mental faculties he at the same time abandoned
all hope of ever extricating himself from the perplexing enigma in
which he was so darkly involved. Forcing himself by degrees into
comparative calmness, he determined to resign himself to his
fate,--and the idea he had just had of boldly claiming the ballad
sung by Sah-luma as his own, completely passed out of his mind.

How could he speak against this friend whom he loved, ..aye!--more
than he had ever loved any living thing!--besides what could he
prove? To begin with, in his present condition ho could give no
satisfactory account of himself,--if he were asked questions
concerning his nation or birth-place he could not answer them, . .
he did not even know where he had come from, save that his memory
persistently furnished him with the name of a place called
"ARDATH." But what was this "Ardath" to him, he mused?--What did
it signify? ... what had it to do with his immediate position?
Nothing, so far as he could tell! His intellect seemed to be