"Phradates! Phradates!" she cried. "Save us from these men!"
Her cry echoed through the recesses of the hall, but it brought no response.
"Phradates!" Thais called again as the outer doors swung back, revealing the wind-swept street.
This time a figure emerged from the marble columns. It was that of Mena the Egyptian, who advanced with a malicious smile upon his sharp face.
"My master is upon the walls," he said impudently, though he bowed low. "He is fighting to save the city from your friends."
Something of the suppressed triumph in his bearing struck the attention of Thais, agitated as she was.
"Is this thy work?" she demanded, looking at him between narrowing eyelids. "Thou shalt pay for it, slave, upon the cross, to the last drop of thy blood!"
"Thou dost me too much honor," Mena replied, bowing again in mock humility.
"Come," said one of Thais' captors, roughly. "Baal must not be kept waiting."
The slanting rain smote their faces as they emerged into the street, where throngs of men and women were crowding toward the Temple of Moloch. On this side, as yet, nothing could be seen of the fierce conflict that was raging for the possession of the children in the Hebrew quarter. The sounds of it were lost in the rushing of the wind and the crashing of the thunder.