“Lady,” said a voice in their ears, the voice of Metem, “I pray you let me dress your hand, for there is no time to lose.”
Aziel looked up to see the Phœnician bending over them with a sardonic smile, and behind him the tall form of Issachar, who stood regarding them, his arms folded on his breast.
“Holy Issachar,” went on Metem with malice, “be pleased to hold this lady’s hand, since it seems that the prince here can only tend her lips.”
“Nay,” answered the Levite, “what have I to do with this daughter of Baaltis? Cure her if you can, or if you cannot, let her die, for so shall a stone of stumbling be removed from the feet of the foolish.” And he glanced indignantly at Aziel.
“Had it not been for this same stone at least the feet of the foolish by now would have pointed skywards. The gods send me such a stone if ever a black dwarf draws a poisoned arrow at me,” answered Metem, as he busied himself with his drugs. Then he added, “Nay, Prince, do not stop to answer him, but hold the lady’s hand to the light.”
Aziel obeyed, and having washed out the wound with water, Metem rubbed ointment into it which burnt Elissa so sorely that she groaned aloud.
“Be patient beneath the pain, lady,” he said, “for if it has not already passed into your blood, this salve will eat away the poison of the arrow.”
Then half-leading and half-carrying her, they brought her back to the palace. Here Metem gave her over into the care of her father, telling him as much of the story as he thought wise, and cautioning him to keep silent concerning what had happened.
At the door of the palace Issachar spoke to Aziel.
“Did I dream, Prince,” he said, “or did my ears indeed hear you tell that idolatress that you loved her for ever, and did my eyes see you kiss her on the lips?”