When Elissa reached her chamber after the break up of the procession, she threw herself upon her couch, and burst into a passion of tears.
Well might she weep, for she had been false to her oath as a priestess, uttering as a message from the goddess that which she had learnt from the lips of man. More, she could not rid herself of the remembrance of the scorn and loathing with which the Prince Aziel had looked upon her, or of the bitter insult of his words when he called her, "a girl of the groves, and a murderess of children."
It chanced that, so far as Elissa was concerned, these charges were utterly untrue. None could throw a slur upon her, and as for these rare human sacrifices, she loathed the very name of them, nor, unless forced to it, would she have been present had she guessed that any such offering was intended.
Like most of the ancient religions, that of the Ph?nicians had two sides to it--a spiritual and a material side. The spiritual side was a worship of the far-off unknown divinity, symbolised by the sun, moon and planets, and visible only in their majestic movements, and in the forces of nature. To this Elissa clung, knowing no truer god, and from those forces she strove to wring their secret, for her heart was deep.
Lonely invocations to the goddess beneath the light of the moon appealed to her, for from them she seemed to draw strength and comfort, but the outward ceremonies of her faith, or the more secret and darker of them, of which in practice she knew little, were already an abomination in her eyes. And now what if the Jew prophet spoke truly? What if this creed of hers were a lie, root and branch, and there did lie in the heavens above a Lord and Father who heard and answered the prayers of men, and who did not seek of them the blood of the children He had given?
A great doubt took hold of Elissa and shook her being, and with the doubt came hope. How was it--if her faith were true--that when she took the name of the goddess in vain, nothing had befallen her? She desired to learn more of this matter, but who was to teach her? The Levite turned from her with loathing as from a thing unclean, and there remained, therefore, but the prince Aziel, who had put her from him with those bitter words of scorn. Ah! why did they pain her so, piercing her heart as with a spear? Was it because--because--he had grown dear to her? Yes, that was the truth. She had learned it even as he cursed her; all her quick southern blood was alight with a new fire, the like of which she had never known before. And not her blood only, it was her spirit--her spirit that yearned to his. Had it not leapt within her at the first sight of him as to one most dear, one long-lost and found again? She loved him, and he loathed her, and oh! her lot was hard.
As Elissa lay brooding thus in her pain, the door opened and Sakon, her father, hurried into the chamber.
"What is it that chanced yonder?" he asked, for he had not been present in the sanctuary, "and, daughter, why do you weep?"
"I weep, father, because your guest, the prince Aziel, has called me 'a girl of the groves, and a murderess of children,'" she replied.
"Then, by my head, prince that he is, he shall answer for it to me," said Sakon, grasping at his sword-hilt.
"Nay, father, since to him I must have seemed to deserve the words.
Listen." And she told him all that had passed, hiding nothing.
"Now it seems that trouble is heaped upon trouble," said the Ph?nician when she had finished, "and they were mad who suffered the prince and that fierce Issachar to be present at the sacrifice. Daughter, I tell you this: though I am a worshipper of El and Baaltis, as my fathers were before me, I know that Jehovah of the Jews is a great and powerful Lord, and that His prophets do not prophesy falsely, for I have seen it in my youth, yonder in the coasts of Sidon. What did Issachar say? That before the moon was young again, this temple should run red with blood? Well, so it may happen, for Ithobal threatens war against us, and for your sake, my daughter."
"How for my sake, father?" she asked heavily, as one who knew what the answer would be.
"You know well, girl. Ever since you danced before him at the great welcoming feast I made in his honour a month ago the man is besotted of you; moreover, he is mad with jealousy of this new-comer, the prince Aziel. He has demanded public audience of me this afternoon, and I have it privately that then he will formally ask you in marriage before the people, and if he is refused will declare war upon the city, with which he has many an ancient quarrel. Yes, yes, king Ithobal is that sword of God which the Jew said he saw hanging over us, and should it fall it will be because of you, Elissa."
"The Jew did not say that, father; he said it would be because of the sins of the people and their idolatries."
"What does it matter what he said?" broke in Sakon hastily. "How shall I answer Ithobal?"
"Tell him," she replied with a strange smile, "that he does wisely to be jealous of the prince Aziel."
"What! Of the stranger who this very day reviled you in words of such shame, and so soon?" asked her father astonished.
Elissa did not speak in answer; she only looked straight before her, and nodded her head.
"Had ever man such a daughter?" Sakon went on in petulant dismay.
"Truly it is a wise saying which tells that women love those best who beat them, be it with the tongue or with the fist. Not but what I would gladly see you wedded to a prince of Israel and of Egypt rather than of this half-bred barbarian, but the legions of Solomon and of Pharaoh are far away, whereas Ithobal has a hundred thousand spears almost at our gate."
"There is no need to speak of such things, father," she said, turning aside, "since, even were I willing, the prince would have nought to do with me, who am a priestess of Baaltis."
"The matter of religion might be overcome," suggested Sakon; "but, no, for many reasons it is impossible. Well, this being so, daughter, I may answer Ithobal that you will wed him."
