shudder shook him from head to foot, . . his hands clenched
themselves convulsively together,--and then slowly, slowly, he
staggered to his feet and stood upright. He was suddenly but
effectually sobered--the flush of intoxication died off his
cheeks--and his eyes grew strained and piteous. Theos, watching
him in wonder and fear, saw his broad chest heave with the rapid-
drawn gasping of his breath, ..he advanced a step or two--then all
at once stretched out his hands in imploring agony.

"Lysia!" he murmured huskily. "Lysia! ... pardon! ... spare me!
... For the sake of past love have pity!"

At this Sah-luma sprang up from his lounging posture on the dais,
his hand on the hilt of his dagger, his whole face flaming with
wrath.

"By my soul!" he cried, "what doth this fellow prate of? ... Past
love? ... Thou profane boaster! ... how darest thou speak of love
to the Priestess of the Faith?"

Nir-jalis heeded him not. His eyes were fixed on Lysia, like the
eyes of a tortured animal who vainly seeks for mercy at the hand
of its destroyer. Step by step he came hesitatingly to the foot of
her throne, . . and it was then that Theos perceived rear at hand a
personage he immediately recognized,--the black scarlet-clad slave
Gazia, who had brought Lysia's message to Sah-luma that same
afternoon. He had made his appearance now so swiftly and silently,
that it was impossible to tell where he had come from,--and he
stood close to Nir-jalis, his muscular firms folded tightly across
his chest, and his hideous mouth contorted into a grin of cruel