"And he?"
"Marduk, of Tyre."
"I know none such. Is he not Hanno, the priest?"
"I only know him as Marduk, the merchant of Tyre."
"Tall, with shaved head, and eyes full of subtle wisdom?"
"No. Of my own stature, with hair black as the raven's; of open face. His beard conceals a scar of a wound received in fight."
"A scar! Is he a man? Is he not a god?"
"More godlike than any god of the Phœnicians; yet a man, indeed."
Zillah sat motionless, her head pressed against her hand in deep thought.
"I cannot understand it," she said, at length. "Mystery! mystery! Oh, I do not know—I cannot see!" and she stared into the shadows as one walking in sleep.