nd I thought I saw some relief in his face.

I went to the library, and on the way remembered Jobson's remark about
Ist Kings. With some searching I found a Bible and turned up the
passage. It was a long screed about the misdeeds of Solomon, and I
read it through without enlightenment. I began to re-read it, and a
word suddenly caught my attention--

"For Solomon went after Ashtaroth, the goddess of the Zidonians."

That was all, but it was like a key to a cipher. Instantly there
flashed over my mind all that I had heard or read of that strange
ritual which seduced Israel to sin. I saw a sunburnt land and a people
vowed to the stern service of Jehovah. But I saw, too, eyes turning
from the austere sacrifice to lonely hill-top groves and towers and
images, where dwelt some subtle and evil mystery. I saw the fierce
prophets, scourging the votaries with rods, and a nation Penitent
before the Lord; but always the backsliding again, and the hankering
after forbidden joys. Ashtaroth was the old goddess of the East. Was
it not possible that in all Semitic blood there remained transmitted
through the dim generations, some craving for her spell? I thought of
the grandfather in the back street at Brighten and of those burning
eyes upstairs.

As I sat and mused my glance fell on the inscrutable stone birds. They
knew all those old secrets of joy and terror. And that moon of
alabaster! Some dark priest had worn it on his forehead when he
worshipped, like Ahab, "all the host of Heaven." And then I honestly
began to be afraid. I, a prosaic, modern Christian gentleman, a
half-believer in casual faiths, was in the presence of some hoary
mystery of sin far older than creeds or Christendom. There was fear in
my heart--a kind of uneasy disgust, and above all a nervous eerie
disquiet. Now I wanted to go away and yet I was ashamed of the
cowardly thought. I pictured Ashtaroth's Grove with sheer horror.
What tragedy was in the air? What secret awaited twilight? For the
night was coming, the night of the Full Moon, the season of ecstasy and
sacrifice.

I do not know how I got through that evening. I was disinclined for
dinner, so I had a cutlet in the library and sat smoking till my tongue
ached. But as the hours passed a more manly resolution grew up in my
mind. I owed it to old friendship to stand by Lawson in this
extremity. I could not interfere--God knows, his reason seemed already
rocking, but I could be a