There was a knocking at the private portal.
‘Who knocks?’ enquired Jabaster.
‘A friend to Israel.’
‘Abidan, by his voice. Art thou alone?’
‘The prophetess is with me; only she.’
‘A moment. I’ll open the gate. Draw the boat within the arch.’
Jabaster descended from the gallery, and in a few moments returned with two visitors: the youthful prophetess Esther, and her companion, a man short in stature, but with a powerful and well-knit frame. His countenance was melancholy, and, with harshness in the lower part, not without a degree of pensive beauty in the broad clear brow and sunken eyes, unusual in Oriental visages.
‘A rough night,’ said Jabaster.
‘To those who fear it,’ replied Abidan. ‘The sun has brought so little joy to me, I care not for the storm.’
‘What news?’