"The prince, girl! what mean you?" exclaimed the other. "Are you mad? There is none can help you in such a matter but the king."
"Only—only," stammered Ishtar, "I fled on purpose to avoid him."
"Fled!" repeated Kalmim scornfully; "whence and why? There is no time to lose. Tell me in a word: has Ninyas, too, taken a fancy to that white face of yours?"
That white face turned crimson, while about brow and lip gathered such haughty defiance, that for a moment the girl looked like her father when he set the battle in array.
"He would have forced me to love him," said she; "but I had rather be lying dead without the city wall!"
"Is it so indeed?" exclaimed Kalmim, a little vexed, it may be, to hear of another woman's conquest, yet highly pleased with the promise of success it seemed to offer. "Then Ashtaroth doth indeed favour us, and the prey is taken ere we spread the net. If he wooed you unsuccessfully, believe me, he is not out of your power yet. You need but ask your price, and he will pay it. That price must be the recovery of Sarchedon."
Love and hatred were tearing at the poor girl's heart—love gained the mastery.
"What would you have me do?" she asked; but her voice was so changed, the other looked anxiously in her face.
"Now you are reasonable," said Kalmim, after a pause, "and will take a friend's advice. So shall all turn to our advantage at last. This must you do: rend that garment of yours thus, not down to the hem, but so that it falls gracefully away in two pieces, uncovering neck and shoulder. Scatter a little dust on your head—a very little—not enough to dim the lustre on your hair. Then sit you down in the gate yonder; I will show you the place. Wait till Ninyas rides by, coming from the judgment seat. He must be leaving it ere now. When you hear the tramp of the white horse, turn not your face to right or left; but as he draws near, start up in front of him, throw back your veil, wreathe your arms about his knee, pour forth your prayer, and implore your lord to do with you what he will."
"Be it so," answered Ishtar, calm and pale, like one in the grasp of death. "Thus shall I save you, Sarchedon my beloved! But never, never will I look in your dear face again."