"Why did you run away?" asked a familiar voice reproachfully.
She looked up and saw Phradates standing before her. "It is fate!" flashed through her mind.
"We thought you had deserted us, and we were frightened," she replied.
"I searched everywhere for you," he said. "Astarte must have guided you here."
He turned and commanded the sailors to cast off. The great vessel swung slowly from the wharf, leaving behind the mass of unhappy fugitives, some of whom cursed her, while others stretched out their arms toward her, praying to the last to be taken on board. Artemisia was revived by the cooler air of the harbor.
"Where are we?" she asked faintly, opening her blue eyes.
"We are on the Phœnician trireme, bound, I suppose, for Tyre," Thais answered bitterly. "No, it was not my doing," she continued, replying to her sister's glance of surprise and question. "I had no more part in it than you this time. It is the will of the Gods."
The trireme pointed her brazen beak toward the entrance of the harbor. The banks of oars which fringed her sides in three rows, one above the other, like the legs of some gigantic water insect, caught the waves, and the panic-stricken city began to glide away from her stern. A fishing boat, laden with fugitives, drifted across her path. The sharp prow struck the side of the hapless little craft and cut through it like a knife. For a brief moment the screams of women and children rose out of the darkness, and then the voices were stifled.
Artemisia hid her face on Thais' shoulder and wept; but Thais, gazing back on the fiery city, saw the great tower reel and fall, clothed in flame from base to summit. The roar of turmoil and terror sounded in her ears, and she smiled. The red light danced in her eyes, making them gleam like opals as she turned them upon Phradates.
"They say thy city hath strong walls, Phœnician," she said. "Thou wilt have to build them still stronger, I think."