ing scream for an instant drowned all
sound of the chorus. The priests quickly parted, and all those in the
temple beheld the anchorite of Lebanon, utterly nude, horrible with his
tall, gaunt, yellow body. The high priest held out the knife to him. The
temple grew unbearably still. And he, quickly stooping, made some motion,
straightened up, and with a wail of pain and rapture suddenly cast at
the feet of the goddess a formless, bloody piece of flesh.

He was tottering. The high priest carefully supported him, putting his
arm around his back; led him up to the image of Isis, painstakingly
covered him with the black pall, and left him thus for a few moments, in
order that in secret, unseen of the others, he might imprint his kiss
upon the lips of the impregnated goddess.

Immediately thereafter he was laid upon a stretcher and borne from the
altar. The priest who kept the gates went outside the temple. He struck
an enormous copper disc with a wooden mallet, proclaiming to all the
universe that the great mystery of the fecundation of the goddess had
been consummated. And the high, singing sound of the copper floated away
over Jerusalem....

Queen Astis, her body still quivering without cease, threw back Eliab's
head. Her eyes were aflame with an intense, red fire. And she spake
slowly, word by word:

"Eliab, wouldst have me make thee king over Judaea and Israel? Wouldst
thou be sovereign over all Syria and Mesopotamia, over Phoenicia and
Babylon?"

"Nay, queen, I desire thee alone...."

"Yea, thou shalt be my lord. All my nights shall belong to thee. My
every word, my every glance, my every breath shall be thine. Thou
knowest the shibboleth. Thou shalt go this day into the palace and slay
them. Thou shalt slay them both! Thou shalt slay them both!"

Eliab was fain to speak. But the queen drew him to her, and her burning
lips and tongue clung to his mouth. This lasted excruciatingly long.
Then, suddenly tearing the youth away from her, she said curtly and
imperiously:

"Go!"

"I go," answered Eliab, submissively.

CHAPTER TWELVE

XII.

And it was the seventh night of Solomon's great love.

Strangely quiet and deeply tender were the caresses of the king and
Sulamith on this night. Some pensive melancholy, some cautious timidity,
some distant premonition, seemed to have cast a slight shadow over their
words, their kisses and embraces.

Gazing through the window at the sky, where night was already