n. Aziel
and his companion were hidden with their mules behind the trunk of one
of these trees, and looking round it they perceived that the open space
beyond the shadow of the branches was not empty. In the centre of this
space stood an altar, and by it was placed the rude figure of a divinity
carved in wood and painted. On the head of this figure rose a crescent
symbolical of the moon, and round its neck hung a chain of wooden stars.
It had four wings but no hands, and of these wings two were out-spread
and two clasped a shapeless object to its breast, intended, apparently,
to represent a child. By these symbols Aziel knew that before him was
an effigy sacred to the goddess of the Phoenicians, who in different
countries passed by the various names of Astarte, or Ashtoreth, or
Baaltis, and who in their coarse worship was at once the personification
of the moon and the emblem of fertility.

Standing before this rude fetish, between it and the altar, whereon lay
some flowers, and in such fashion that the moonlight struck full upon
her, was a white-robed woman. She was young and very beautiful both in
shape and feature, and though her black hair streaming almost to the
knees took from her height, she still seemed tall. Her rounded arms were
outstretched; her sweet and passionate face was upturned towards the
sky, and even at that distance the watchers could see her deep eyes
shining in the moonlight. The sacred song of the priestess was finished.
Now she was praying aloud, slowly, and in a clear voice, so that Aziel
could hear and understand her; praying from her very heart, not to the
idol before her, however, but to the moon above.

"O Queen of Heaven," she said, "thou whose throne I see but whose face
I cannot see, hear the prayer of thy priestess, and protect me from the
fate I fear, and rid me of him I hate. Safe let me dwell and pure, and
as thou fillest the night with light, so fill the darkness of my soul
with the wisdom that I crave. O whisper into my ears and let me hear the
voice of heaven, teaching me that which I would know. Read me the riddle
of my life, and let me learn wherefore I am not as my sisters are; why
feasts and offerings delight me not; why I thirst for knowledge and not
for wealth, and why I crave such love as here I cannot win. Satisfy my
being with thy immortal lore and a love that does not fail or die, and
if thou wilt, then take my life in payment. Speak to me from the heaven
above, O Baalt