For a space they were silent, and, as the boat slipped forward in the gloom, dim voices of the night came floating to their ears—to the woman, sweeter than a zittern's softest strain. She listened to the river's droning hymn as it worshipped on its way to the Sea-god's shrine, and the deep-toned song of frogs from a reedy marsh. She heard the lisp of the paddle in the yellow tide, a heron's echoed cry, and the far, faint call of sentries from the battlements of Nineveh.
On the heart of Kishra these voices cast a spell of fear, chilling the fever of his greed which till now had urged him on. Why should the Syrian be overjoyed to greet her dog if she thought to return ere the dawn had come? Perchance she laid some snare to trip his feet, and would fly to Ascalon, cheating him of his wealth so coveted. The treasure! Mayhap no gems were hidden there at all, and hers was but a trick to lure him to his death.
A thousand terrors trickled from out the gloom; they swam through the waters, climbed into the boat, and lay upon him heavily. Of a sudden the traitor paused, with his paddle across his knees.
"Mistress," he asked, "what proof have I that no enemy lurketh beside the lily beds, to fall upon me when we reach the shore?"
"None," replied Semiramis. "He who would dig for leathern sacks, must dare such dangers as the night-gods send. Yet, if yours be a coward's heart, turn back, for it cometh to me that a tenth is usury." She smiled again, and bent to her restless dog: "Down, Habal, down! What troubleth thee?"
The boat now floated in the middle of the stream, and ere Kishra began his paddling once again, his fears were confirmed by the actions of the dog. Habal had risen, sniffing at the air. On the western breeze he caught a scent, and his bark rang out till the echoes rolled from shore to shore. A friend was near at hand, and the dog gave joyous tongue.
For a moment Kishra sat staring at Semiramis, while through his evil brain shot the knowledge of his own credulity. From the first she had gulled him, luring him to lie in a muddy fish pond, harkening unto whisperings. No runner waited for her fish of malachite. Her tremblings and her tears were but a mask. Even in her well-feigned fury she had fed him with designs for his own undoing, and he, in his gross cupidity, had eaten of the fruit of fools. No treasure lay hidden on the river shore, but enemies who smiled and waited for their own.
Mad with terror, Kishra spun the boat about, but, in his over-strength of fear, the paddle snapped, and Semiramis laughed aloud. Helpless he sat, a victim to this gloating witch who befooled him with her guile—he—Kishra, warden of the King, who dared not return again to his post of ease. Then fury took him utterly. He seized on the digging tool, arose, and swung it high above his head in the thought to brain her at a blow.
"Devil," he snarled, "thou hast tricked me with a lie!"
Down came the implement, but not upon the Syrian, for Habal had leaped at Kishra's throat, and Semiramis overturned the tossing craft.