An awful clap of thunder broke over the palace, followed by a strange clashing sound that seemed to come from one of the chambers. The walls of the Serail rocked.
‘An earthquake!’ exclaimed Alroy. ‘Would that the earth would open and swallow all! Hah! Pharez, has it roused thee, too? Pharez, we live in strange times.’
‘Your Highness is very pale.’
‘And so art thou, lad! Wouldst have me merry? Pale! we may well be pale, didst thou know all. Hah! that awful sound again! I cannot bear it, Pharez, I cannot bear it. I have borne many things, but this I cannot.’
‘My lord, ‘tis in the Armoury.’
‘Run, see. No, I’ll not be alone. Where’s Benaiah? Let him go. Stay with me, Pharez, stay with me. I pray thee stay, my child.’
Pharez led the Caliph to a couch, on which Alroy lay pale and trembling. In a few minutes he inquired whether Benaiah had returned.
‘Even now he comes, Sire.’
‘Well, how is it?’
‘Sire! a most awful incident. As the thunder broke over the palace, the sacred standard fell from its resting-place, and has shivered into a thousand pieces. Strange to say, the sceptre of Solomon can neither be found nor traced.’