“It seems that you saw and heard these things, Issachar,” said Aziel, setting his face sternly. “Now hear this further, and then I pray you give me peace on this matter of the lady Elissa: If in any way it is possible, I shall make her my wife, and if it be not possible, then for so long as she may live at least I will look upon no other woman.”
“Then that is good news, Prince, to me, who am charged with your welfare, for be sure, if I can prevent you, you shall never mix your life with that of this heathen sorceress.”
“Issachar,” the prince replied, “I have borne much from you because I know well that you love me, and have stood to me in the place of a father. But now, in my turn, I warn you, do not seek to work harm to the lady Elissa, for in striking her you strike me, and such blows may bring my vengeance after them.”
“Vengeance?” mocked the Levite. “I fear but one vengeance, and it is not yours, nor do I listen to the whisperings of love when duty points the path. Rather would I see you dead, prince Aziel, then lured down to hell by the wiles of yonder witch.”
Then before Aziel could answer he turned and left him.
As Issachar went to his own chamber full of bitterness and indignation, he passed the door of Elissa’s apartments, and came face to face with Metem issuing from them.
“Will the woman live?” he asked of him.
“Be comforted, worthy Issachar. I think so; that is, if the bandage does not slip. I go to tell the prince.”
“Gladly would I give a hundred golden shekels to him who brought me tidings that it had slipped and the woman with it, down to the arms of her father Beelzebub,” broke in the Levite passionately.