‘It is not true!’ said Tancred. ‘It cannot be true! She is not dead.’
‘Would she were not, if her death is to bring me curses.’
‘Tell me when was this?’
‘An hour ago, at least.’
‘I do not believe it. There is not an arm that would have dared to touch her. Let us hasten to her. It is not too late.’
‘Alas! it is too late,’ said Astarte. ‘It was an enemy’s arm that undertook the deed.’
‘An enemy! What enemy among your people could the daughter of Besso have found?’
‘A deadly one, who seized the occasion offered to a long cherished vengeance; one who for years has been alike the foe and the victim of her race and house. There is no hope!’
‘I am indeed amazed. Who could this be?’
‘Your friend; at least, your supposed friend, the Emir of the Lebanon.’