The king stepped down from his throne, and stood a moment over the dead body of Ahimelek.
"The gods pardon him! Carry him to his house, and prepare him for the tomb, where we will ourselves accompany him; for he was the father of Zillah."
Reascending the dais, he turned to Hanno, who during these scenes had stood almost motionless, watching everything, and alert lest his plan should miscarry in the least—
"Now, Hanno, for the coronation!"
A silver trumpet sounded sweetly. The curtain back of the throne moved, and through the opening Zillah came. Radiant with sparkling jewels, she was more radiant with the beauty of her queenly soul that shone through her features and dignified her every movement. Her joy in her husband's triumph, her consciousness of having shared with him his misfortunes, and of her daring to share with him the dangers that still pressed about him, gave her a royalty of appearance that even a crown could not augment.
"My Queen!" said Hiram, as he took her hand, and seated her upon the throne. He raised the crown and placed it upon her brow.
"Behold the Queen of Tyre!"