Slowly she withdrew her fingers from his clasp.

"Thou art bold!" she said, with a touch of indolent amusement in
her accents. "But in thy boldness there is something of the hero.
Knowest thou not that I, Lysia, High Priestess of Nagaya, could
have thee straightway slain for that unwise speech of thine?--
unwise because over-hasty and somewhat over-familiar. Yes, I could
have thee slain!" and she laughed,--a rippling little laugh like
that of a pleased child. "Howbeit thou shalt not die this time for
thy foolhardiness--thy looks are too much in thy favor! Thou art
like Sah-luma in his noblest moods, when tired of verse-stringing
and sonnet-chanting he condescends to remember that he is not
quite divine! See how he chafes at that!" and plucking a lotus-bud
she threw it playfully at the Laureate, whose handsome face
flushed vexedly at her words. "And thou art prudent, Sir Theos--do
I not pronounce thy name aptly?--thou wilt be less petulant than
he, and less absorbed in self-adoration, for here men--even poets
--are deemed no more than men, and their constant querulous claim
to be considered as demi-gods meets with no acceptance! Wilt
'blind thyself with beauty' as thou say'st? Well then, lose thine
eyes, but guard thy heart!"

And with a careless movement she loosened her veil; it fell from
her like a soft cloud, and Theos, springing to his feet, gazed
upon her with a sense of enraptured bewilderment and passionate
pain. It was as though he saw the wraith of some fair, dead woman
he had loved of old, risen anew to redemand from him his former
allegiance. O, unfamiliar yet well-known face! ... O, slumbrous,
starry eyes that seemed to hold the memory of a thousand love-
thoughts! ... O, sweet curved lips whereon a delicious smile