“Hold, O priest!” she said, “for the goddess, breathing on my brow, inspires me, and I have a message from the goddess.”
“Draw near, daughter, and speak it in the ears of men,” the priest answered wondering, for he found it hard to believe in such inspiration, and indeed would have denied her a hearing had he dared.
So Elissa climbed the platform, and standing upon it still with outstretched hands and upturned face, she said in a clear voice:—
“The goddess refuses the sacrifice, since she has taken to herself her for whom it was to have been offered—the Lady Baaltis is dead.”
At this tidings a groan went up from the people, partly of grief for the loss of a spiritual dignitary who was popular, and partly of disappointment because now the sacrifice could not be offered. For the Phœnicians loved these horrible spectacles, which were not, however, commonly celebrated by daylight and in the presence of the people.
“It is a lie,” cried a voice, “but now the Lady Baaltis was living.”
“Let the gates be opened, and send to see whether or no I lie,” said Elissa, quietly.
Then for a while there was silence while a priest went upon the errand. At length he was seen returning. Pushing his way through the crowd, he mounted the platform, and said:—
“The daughter of Sakon speaks truth; alas! the lady Baaltis is dead.”
Elissa sighed in relief, for had her tidings proved false she could scarcely have hoped to escape the fury of the crowd.