“Save it, and I will believe you,” answered the prince, turning from her.

Elissa slipped away, for she saw that the priestesses, her companions, were reforming their ranks, and that she must not tarry.  When she had gone a few yards, a hand caught her by the sleeve, and the voice of Metem, who had overheard something of this talk, whispered in her ear:—­

“Daughter of Sakon, what will you give me if I show you a way to save the life of the child, and with it that of the prince, and at the same time to make him think well of you again?”

“All my jewels and ornaments of gold, and they are many,” she answered eagerly.

“Good; it is a bargain.  Now listen:  The lady Baaltis is dead; she died a few minutes since, and none here know it save myself and one other, my servant, nor can any learn it, for the gates are shut.  Do you be, therefore, suddenly inspired—­of the gods—­and say so, for then the sacrifice must cease, seeing that she for whom it was to be offered is dead.  Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she answered, “and though the blasphemy bring on me the vengeance of Baaltis, yet it shall be dared.  Fear not, your pay is good,” and she pressed forward to her place, keeping the veil wrapped about her head till she reached it unobserved, for in the general confusion none had noticed her movements.

When the noise of shouting and angry voices had at length died away, and the spectators were driven back outside the sacred circle, the priest upon the platform cried:—­

“Now that the Jew blasphemer has gone, let the sacrifice be offered, as is decreed.”

“Yea, let the sacrifice be offered,” answered the multitude, and once more the woman with the sleeping child stepped forward.  But before the priest could take it another figure approached him, that of Elissa, with arms outstretched and eyes upturned.

“Hold, O priest!” she said, “for the goddess, breathing on my brow, inspires me, and I have a message from the goddess.”

“Draw near, daughter, and speak it in the ears of men,” the priest answered wondering, for he found it hard to believe in such inspiration, and indeed would have denied her a hearing had he dared.

So Elissa climbed the platform, and standing upon it still with outstretched hands and upturned face, she said in a clear voice:—­

“The goddess refuses the sacrifice, since she has taken to herself her for whom it was to have been offered—­the Lady Baaltis is dead.”

At this tidings a groan went up from the people, partly of grief for the loss of a spiritual dignitary who was popular, and partly of disappointment because now the sacrifice could not be offered.  For the Phoenicians loved these horrible spectacles, which were not, however, commonly celebrated by daylight and in the presence of the people.

“It is a lie,” cried a voice, “but now the Lady Baaltis was living.”