Syphax alone had time to drop his booty and draw his sword. He saw that there was no escape.
"Thou hast been my evil genius," he cried to Ariston, "but at any rate thou shalt go with me to the Styx."
He plunged his sword into the old man's side. Before he could withdraw it, a Thessalian blade cleft his skull. Murderer and victim fell together.
The storm had blown over. The sinking sun shone crimson upon the twisted clouds far across the sky. In the quarter where the Israelites dwelt, amid the mourning and rejoicing, Pethuel, the high priest, raised his hands to heaven.
"Give thanks to Jehovah!" he cried. "Our enemies have fallen and they that mocked Him are no more! Blessed be the name of the Lord!"
CHAPTER XLVIII
THAIS GIVES A FEAST
Down in the secret passage the fugitives from the Temple of Moloch could hear no sound of the battle. Leonidas had snatched one of the perfumed censers from the hand of a quaking neophyte, and this shed a glimmer of light as he led the way.
Artemisia came to her senses to find herself clasped in her lover's arms.