"What a company of mutes ye are!" he said thickly..

"Did ye not hear me? I bade ye ask Lysia, . ." and all at once he
sat bolt upright, his face crimsoning as with an access of
passion.. "Ask Lysia!" he repeated loudly.. "Ask her why the
mighty Zephoranim creeps in and out the Sacred Temple at midnight
like a skulking slave instead of a King! ... at midnight, when he
should be shut within his palace walls, playing the fool among his
women! I warrant 'tis not piety that persuades him to wander
through the underground Passage of the Tombs alone and in
disguise! Sah-luma! ... pretty pampered hound as thou art! ...
thou art near enough to Our Lady of Witcheries,--ask her, ... ask
her! ... she knows, . . "and his voice sank into an incoherent
murmur, . . "she knows more than she cares to confess!"

Another deep and death like pause ensued, ... and then Lysia's
silvery cold tones smote the profound silence with calm, clear
resonance.

"Friend Nir-jalis," she said, . . how tuneful were her accents, . .
how chilly sweet her smile! ... "Methinks thou art grown
altogether too wise for this world! ... 'tis pity thou shouldest
continue to linger in so narrow and incomplete a sphere! ...
Depart hence therefore! ... I shall frely excuse thine absence,
since THY HOUR HAS COME! ..."

And, taking from the table at her side a tall crystal chalice
fashioned in the form of a lily set on a golden stem, she held it
up toward him. Starting wildly from his couch he looked at her, as
though doubting whether he had heard her words aright, . . a strong