asked with just sufficient satire in his utterance to render it
almost cruel.. "Am I to blame for the foolish fancies of all the
amorous maidens in Al-Kyris? ... Many there be who love me, . .
well,--what then?--Must I love many in return? Nay! Not so! the
Poet is the worshiper of Ideal Beauty, and for him the brief
passions of mortal men and women serve as mere pastime to while
away an hour! But.. by my faith, thou hast gained wondrous
boldness in thy speech to prate so glibly of the heart's emotion,
--what knowest THOU concerning such things.. thou, who hast counted
scarcely fifteen summers! ... hast thou caught contagion from
Niphrata, and art thou too, sick of love?"

Oh, the dazzling smile with which he accompanied this poignant
question! ... the pitiless, burning ardor he managed to convey into
the sleeping brilliancy of his soft, poetic eyes! ... the
beautiful languor of his attitude, as leaning his head back easily
on one arm, he turned upon the shrinking girl a look that seemed
intended to pierce into the very inmost recesses of her soul! The
roseate color faded from her cheeks, . . white as a marble image she
stood, her breath coming between her lips in quick, frightened
gasps...

"My lord! ..." she stammered ... "I ..." Here her voice failed her,
and suddenly covering her face with her hands, she broke into a
passion of weeping. Sah-luma's delicate brows darkened into a
close frown,--and he waved his hand with a petulant gesture of
impatience.

"Ye gods! what fools are women!" he said wearily. "Ever hovering
uncertainly on a narrow verge between silly smiles and sillier