“It does not satisfy me, prince Aziel,” Elissa answered, the tears starting to her dark eyes. “I know full well that the lady will not change her mind, and take a man who is in years, and whom she hates, in place of one who is young, and whom she loves. Therefore, when you return hence to Jerusalem, by the king’s command you will wed her.”
“Nay, Elissa; if I am already married that cannot be,” he said.
“In Judea, Prince, I am told that men take more wives than one; also, they divorce them,” she replied; then added, “Oh, return not there where I shall lose you. If, indeed, you love me, I pray you return not there.”
Before he could answer, a sound of singing and of all sorts of music caught Aziel’s ear. Looking through the casement, he saw a great procession of the priests and priestesses of El and Baaltis clad in their festal robes and accompanied by many dignitaries of the city, a multitude of people and bands of musicians, advancing across the square towards the door of the palace.
“Why, what passes?” he exclaimed. As he spoke the door opened and two richly arrayed heralds, wands of office in their hands, entered and prostrated themselves before Elissa.
“Greeting to you, most noble and blessed lady, the chosen of the gods!” they cried with one voice. “Prepare, we beseech you, to hear glad tidings, and to receive those who are sent to tell them.”
“Glad tidings?” said Elissa. “Has Ithobal then withdrawn his suit?”
“Nay, lady; it is not of Ithobal that the messengers come to speak.”
“Then I cannot receive them,” she said, sinking back in apprehension. “I am still ill and weak, and I pray to be excused.”
“Nay, lady,” answered the herald, “that which they have to tell will cure your sickness.”