“Nay, Prince, if she is not the lady Baaltis your husbandship falls to the ground with the rest, for you are not the Shadid, an office with which perchance you can dispense. But all this priestly juggling means little, the truth being that the city in its terror is ready to throw her—or for the matter of that, Baaltis herself if they could lay hands on her—as a sop to Ithobal, hoping thereby to appease his rage. The lady Elissa knows her danger—but here she comes to speak for herself.”
As he spoke the curtains at the end of the chamber were drawn, and through them came Elissa, clad in her splendid robes of office and wearing upon her brow the golden crescent of the moon.
“How goes it with the prince, Metem?” she asked in her soft voice, glancing anxiously towards the couch which was half-hidden in the shadow of the wall.
“Look for yourself, lady,” answered the Phœnician bowing before her.
“Elissa, Elissa!” cried Aziel, raising himself and opening his arms.
She saw and heard, then, with a low cry, she ran swiftly to him and was wrapped in his embrace. Thus they stayed a while, murmuring words of love and greeting.
“Is it your pleasure that I should leave you?” asked Metem presently. “No? Then, Prince, I would have you remember that you are still very weak and should not give way to violent emotions.”
“Listen, Aziel,” said Elissa, untwining his arms from about her neck, “there is no time for tenderness; moreover, you should show none to one who, in name at least, is still the high-priestess of Baaltis, though in truth she worships her no longer. It was noble of you indeed to offer incense upon the altar of El that my life might be saved. But when I prayed you not, I spoke from the heart, and bitterly, bitterly do I grieve that for my sake you should have stained your hands with such a sin. Moreover, it will avail nothing, for the doom of the prophet Issachar lies upon us, and I cannot escape from death, neither can you escape remorse, and as I think, that worst of all desires—the desire for the dead.”
“Can we not still flee the city?” asked Aziel.
“Metem will tell you that it is impossible; day and night I am watched and guarded, yes, Mesa dogs me from door to door. Also Ithobal holds Zimboe so firmly in his net that no sparrow could fly out of it and he not know. And there is worse to tell: Beloved, they purpose to give me up as a peace-offering to Ithobal. Yes, even my father is of the plot, for in his despair he thinks it his duty to sacrifice his daughter to save the town, if, indeed, that will suffice to save us.”