“No lady, not alone; the holy Issachar goes with me, also the escort of the prince Aziel—and the prince himself, whose presence is no longer desired in Zimboe.” Here he stopped, for he saw that Elissa was about to betray her agitation, and whispered, “Be not foolish, for you are watched; I have a letter for you. Lady,” he continued in a louder voice, “if it will please you to examine this precious image in the light, you will no longer hesitate or think the price too high,” and bowing low he led the way behind the throne, whither Elissa followed him.
Now they were standing beneath the window-place, which they faced, and hidden from the gaze of the women by the gilded back of the high seat.
“Here,” he said, thrusting the parchment into her hand, “read quickly, and return it to me.”
She snatched the roll from him, and as her eyes devoured the lines, her face fell in, and her lips grew pale with anguish.
“Be brave,” murmured Metem, for his heart was stirred to pity; “it is best for all that he should go.”
“For him, perchance it is best,” she answered; as with an unwilling hand she gave him back the letter which she dared not keep, “but what of me? Oh! Metem, what of me?”
“Lady,” he said sadly, “I have no words to soothe your sorrow save that the gods have willed it thus.”
“What gods?” she asked fiercely; “not those they bid me worship.” She shuddered, then went on, “Metem, be pitiful! Oh! if ever you have loved a woman, or have been loved of one, for her sake be pitiful. I must see him for the last time in farewell, and you can help me to it.”
“I! In the name of Baal, how?”
“When do you have to leave the city, Metem?”