“For you priests and priestesses of El and Baaltis, think of my words, and raise the loud song of triumph to your gods when you yourselves are their offering, and the red flame of the fire burns you up, all of you save your sins, which are immortal.  O citizens of an accursed city, look on the hill-top yonder and tell me, what do you see in the light of the dying day?  A sheen of spears, is it not?  They draw near to your hearts, you whose day is done indeed, citizens of an accursed city whereof the very name shall be forgotten, and the naked towers shall become but a source of wonder to men unborn.

“And now, O priest, having said my say, as you bid me, I make my offering upon your altar.”

Then, while all stood fearful and amazed, Issachar the Levite sprang forward, and seizing the ancient image of Baaltis, he spat upon it and dashed the priceless consecrated thing down upon the altar, where it broke into fragments, and was burned with the fire.

“My offering is made,” he said; “may He whom I serve accept it.  Now after the offering comes the sacrifice; son Aziel, fare you well.”

*****

For a few moments a silence of horror and dismay fell upon the assembly as they gazed at the shattered and burning fragments of their holy image.  Then moved by a common impulse, with curses and yells of fury, the priests and priestesses sprang from their seats and hurled themselves upon Issachar, who stood awaiting them with folded arms.  They smote him with their ivory rods, they rent and tore him with their hands and teeth, worrying him as dogs worry a fox of the hills, till at length the life was beaten and trampled out of him and he lay dead.

Thus terribly, but yet by such a death of martyrdom as he would have chosen, perished Issachar the Levite.

Unarmed though he was, Aziel had sprung to his aid, but Metem and Sakon, knowing that he would but bring about his own destruction, flung themselves upon him and held him back.  Whilst he was still struggling with them the end came, and Issachar grew still for ever.  Then, as the sun sank and the darkness fell, Aziel’s strength left him, and presently he slipped to the ground senseless.

*****

Thereafter it seemed to Aziel that he was plunged in an endless and dreadful dream, and that through its turmoil and shifting visions, he could see continually the dreadful death of Issachar, and hear his stern accents prophesying woe to him who renounces the God of his forefathers to bow the knee to Baal.

At length he awoke from that horror-haunted sleep to find himself lying in a strange chamber.  It was night, and lamps burned in the chamber, and by their light he saw a man whose face he knew mixing a draught in a glass phial.  So weak was he that at first he could not remember the man’s name, then by slow degrees it came to him.

“Metem,” he said, “where am I?”

The Phoenician looked up from his task, smiled, and answered:—­