“Go,” said he, “I wish to be alone, and will follow presently.”  So they bowed to the earth, and went.

The man was young, perhaps six or eight and twenty years of age.  His dark skin, burnt almost to blackness by the heat of the sun, together with the fashion of his short, square-cut beard and of his garments, proclaimed him of Jewish or Egyptian blood, while the gold collar about his neck and the gold graven ring upon his hand showed that his rank was high.  Indeed this wanderer was none other than the prince Aziel, nick-named the Ever-living, because of a curious mole upon his shoulder bearing a resemblance to the crux ansata, the symbol of life eternal among the Egyptians.  By blood he was a grandson of Solomon, the mighty king of Israel, and born of a royal mother, a princess of Egypt.

In stature Aziel was tall, but somewhat slimly made, having small bones.  His face was oval in shape, the features, especially the mouth, being fine and sensitive; the eyes were large, dark, and full of thought—­the eyes of a man with a destiny.  For the most part, indeed, they were sombre and over-full of thought, but at times they could light up with a strange fire.

Aziel the prince placed his hand against his forehead in such fashion as to shade his face from the rays of the setting sun, and from beneath its shadow gazed long and earnestly at the city of the hill.

“At length I behold thee, thanks be to God,” he murmured, for he was a worshipper of Jehovah, and not of his mother’s deities, “and it is time, since, to speak the truth, I am weary of this travelling.  Now what fortune shall I find within thy walls, O City of Gold and devil-servers?”

“Who can tell?” said a quiet voice at his elbow.  “Perhaps, Prince, you will find a wife, or a throne, or—­a grave.”

Aziel started, and turned to see a man standing at his side, clothed in robes that had been rich, but were now torn and stained with travel, and wearing on his head a black cap in shape not unlike the fez that is common in the East to-day.  The man was past middle age, having a grizzled beard, sharp, hard features and quick eyes, which withal were not unkindly.  He was a Phoenician merchant, much trusted by Hiram, the King of Tyre, who had made him captain of the merchandise of this expedition.

“Ah! is it you, Metem?” said Aziel.  “Why do you leave your charge to return to me?”

“That I may guard a more precious charge—­yourself, Prince,” replied the merchant courteously.  “Having brought the child of Israel so far in safety, I desire to hand him safely to the governor of yonder city.  Your servants told me that by your command they had left you alone, so I returned to bear you company, for after nightfall robbers and savages wander without these walls.”

“I thank you for your care, Metem, though I think there is little danger, and at the worst I can defend myself.”

“Do not thank me, Prince; I am a merchant, and now, as in the past, I protect you, knowing that for it I shall be paid.  The governor will give me a rich reward when I lead you to him safely, and when in years to come I return with you still safe to the court of Jerusalem, then the great king will fill my ship’s hold with gifts.”