“He may have pressed it openly and been repulsed,” she replied in a low voice.  “But if he could have carried me to some far fortress, how should I flout him there, that is, if I still lived?  There, with no price to pay in gold or lands or power, he would have been my master, and I should have been his slave till such time as he wearied of me.  That is the fate from which you have saved me, Prince, or rather from death, for I am not one who could bear such shame at the hands of a man I hate.”

“Lady,” he said bowing, “I think that perhaps for the first time in my life I am glad to-night that I was born.”

“And I,” she answered, “who am but a Phoenician maiden, am glad that I should have lived to hear one who is as royal in thought and soul as he is in rank speak thus to me.  Oh!  Prince,” she added, clasping her hands, “if your words are not those of empty courtesy alone, hear me, for you are great, a Lord of the Earth whom none refuse, and it may be in your power to give me aid.  Prince, I am in a sore strait, for that danger from which I prayed to be delivered this night presses me hard.  Prince, it is true that Ithobal has been refused my hand, both by myself and by my father, and therefore it was that he strove to steal me away.  But the evil is not done with, for the great nobles of the city and the chief priests of El came to my father at sunset and prayed him that he would let Ithobal take me, seeing that otherwise in his rage he will make war upon Zimboe.  When a man placed as is my father must choose between the safety of thousands and the honour and happiness of one poor girl, what will his answer be, think you?”

“Now,” said Aziel, “save that no wrong can right a wrong, I almost grieve that I cried shame upon the counsel of Metem.  Sweet lady, be sure of this, that I will give all I have, even to my life, to protect you from the vile fate you dread—­yes, all I have—­except my soul.”

“Ah!” she cried with a sudden flash of her dark eyes, “all except your soul.  If we women could find the man who would risk both life and soul for us, then, were he but a slave, we would worship him as never man was worshipped since Baaltis mounted her heavenly throne.”

“Were I not a Hebrew you would tempt me, lady,” Aziel answered smiling, “but being one I may not risk my soul even were such a prize within my reach.”

“Nay, Prince,” she broke in, “I did but jest; forget my words, for they were wrung from a heart torn with fears.  Oh! did you know the terror of this half-savage Ithobal which oppresses me, you would forgive me all—­a terror that to-night lies upon me with a tenfold weight.”

“Why so, lady?”

“Doubtless because it is nearer,” Elissa whispered, but her beautiful pleading eyes and quivering lips seemed to belie her words and say, “because you are near, and a change has come upon me.”

For the second time that day Aziel’s glance met hers, and for the second time a strange new pang that was more pain than joy, and yet half-divine, snatched at his heart-strings, for a while numbing his reason and taking from him the power of speech.