Truly it was a pretty scheme, and an easy—so obviously easy, indeed, that it happened to occur to Beltani also, and she so arranged matters that Baba was detailed to sell the flowers on the steps of the temple of Istar, while Ramûa remained at home under her mother's eye. When, at the usual hour for the departure of the workers, this forethought was displayed, Charmides began to realize his helplessness. There seemed nothing to do but to go forth as usual to the temple, to do his work there, to fill out the day as he might, and to trust to the love of Apollo to preserve her whom he loved from the fate that hung over her. Between now and sunset were ten round hours. Cities had been taken in less time than that, did one but know how to set about it. But there was the rub. The only thing that seemed left to do—go to Ribâta himself with an appeal—was a manifest absurdity. Charmides knew enough of Babylonish character for that. And even had Ribâta's reputation as a roué and a roisterer not been what it was, still, the notion that he could be prevented by a mere nobody from acquiring a beautiful slave in such a simple manner, was something that a man of Charmides' own race would never have thought of. Ramûa knew this as well as Charmides. She said good-bye to him in the door-way of the tenement Ut, her mother beside her, and Baba just behind. There was no more than a long look and his miserable whisper:
"At sunset I will be here."
He knew that she quivered at the mere mention of that hour. Then he turned abruptly away, and she could only watch him go.
Charmides went straight from the bank of the canal to the temple of Sin, by a much shorter way than that that held so many happy memories for him. He must accustom himself now to take his walk in solitude. Never before, however, had he realized what a dreary distance it was. The city lay about him, spread out in all its filth, ill-kept, teeming with naked, half-starved children, noisy with mongrel dogs, rattling with buffalo-carts. He saw to-day only the wretchedest and ugliest sights. His own heart responded to the wails of every child throughout the endless walk; but he reached the temple a half-hour before his usual time.
The mercy-hour had not yet come. A sacrifice, however, was in progress, and the officiating priest called to him to play while the augurs began their work. He saw the goat quartered and its flesh cooked, while the entrails, which had been removed, were carefully examined for any special omen of good or of evil for him who offered the sacrifice. When this was over the Greek retired alone to the sanctuary, where, from the sacred image, he was to listen to the plaints of those that came to seek aid in trouble. How vain that quest was he knew too well. Yet, because this was a consecrated place, the Greek knelt to his own fair god, and prayed as a man prays once in his life, for Ramûa, her honor, and his happiness.
When finally a priest came to him and opened the door in the back of the statue, Charmides' heart was a little lighter. He ascended quickly into his place, where he could look through the eyes of the god and speak through its mouth to those who knelt before it. Presently came a woman with a sick child in her arms. No conjurer had been able to help her, no god would take pity on her. Charmides told her a charm that could not fail, mentioned the price of the information, and sent her away. Then followed in rapid succession a stream of men and women, each with a tale of misery. By this time the Greek knew the types by heart, and, while he pitied, he was wearied by them. Which of them all had a heart as sore as his to-day? Alas! Could they have known that their god himself stood in the shadow of despair's black wings, would they have departed from him serene in faith, and so confident in their new-found wisdom?
However, when half the allotted mercy-time was over, there came one suppliant who, for a moment, took the Greek's thought from himself. A man, entirely muffled in a dark mantle, his head covered with such a cloth as desert-travellers wear, entered the secluded place before the statue, prostrated himself thrice before it, finally lifted his head, and, throwing the embroidered cloth back from his face, clasped his hands in the attitude of abject supplication. Charmides started to find himself gazing into the deep-blue eyes of Belshazzar, the prince royal.
"May Sin look mercifully upon me from the high place," began the suppliant, according to the ritual.
"Mercifully looks Sin upon them that approach him with humble hearts."
"Father Sin, bring peace to my heart!"