lace.

"A woman to be feared," thought Metem to himself as, shaking off the
priestesses, he passed her upon his way up the long chamber. Presently
he had reached the end of it, and was saluting the presence of the
Baaltis by kneeling and touching the carpet with his brow.

"Rise, Metem," said Elissa, "and set out your business, for the hour of
the sunset prayer is at hand, and I cannot talk long with you."

So he rose, and, looking at her while he laid out his store of images,
saw that her face was sad, and that her eyes were full of a strange
fear.

"Lady," he said, "on the second night from now I depart from this city
of yours, and glad shall I be to leave it living. Therefore I have
brought you these four priceless images of the most splendid workmanship
of Tyre, thinking that it might please you to purchase them for the
service of the goddess."

"You depart," she whispered; "alone?"

"No lady, not alone; the holy Issachar goes with me, also the escort of
the prince Aziel--and the prince himself, whose presence is no longer
desired in Zimboe." Here he stopped, for he saw that Elissa was about
to betray her agitation, and whispered, "Be not foolish, for you are
watched; I have a letter for you. Lady," he continued in a louder voice,
"if it will please you to examine this precious image in the light, you
will no longer hesitate or think the price too high," and bowing low he
led the way behind the throne, whither Elissa followed him.

Now they were standing beneath the window-place, which they faced, and
hidden from the gaze of the women by the gilded back of the high seat.

"Here," he said, thrusting the parchment into her hand, "read quickly,
and return it to me."

She snatched the roll from him, and as her eyes devoured the lines, her
face fell in, and her lips grew pale with anguish.

"Be brave," murmured Metem, for his heart was stirred to pity; "it is
best for all that he should go."

"For him, perchance it is best," she answered; as with an unwilling hand
she gave him back the letter which she dared not keep, "but what of me?
Oh! Metem, what of me?"

"Lady," he said sadly, "I have no words to soothe your sorrow save that
the gods have willed it thus."

"What gods?" she asked fiercely; "not those they bid me worship." She
shuddered, then went on, "Metem, be pitiful! Oh! if ever you have loved
a woman, or have been loved of one, for her sake be pitiful. I must see
him for the last time in farewell,