“That depends, Metem,” replied the prince.  “If my grandfather still reigns it may be so, but he is very old, and if my uncle wears his crown, then I am not sure.  Truly you Phoenicians love money.  Would you, then, sell me for gold also, Metem?”

“I said not so, Prince, though even friendship has its price——­”

“Among your people, Metem?”

“Among all people, Prince.  You reproach us with loving money; well, we do, since money gives everything for which men strive—­honour, and place, and comfort, and the friendship of kings.”

“It cannot give you love, Metem.”

The Phoenician laughed contemptuously.  “Love! with gold I will buy as much of it as I need.  Are there no slaves upon the market, and no free women who desire ornaments and ease and the purple of Tyre?  You are young, Prince, to say that gold cannot buy us love.”

“And you, Metem, who are growing old, do not understand what I mean by love, nor will I stay to explain it to you, for were my words as wise as Solomon’s, still you would not understand.  At the least your money cannot bring you the blessing of Heaven, nor the welfare of your spirit in the eternal life that is to come.”

“The welfare of my spirit, Prince?  No, it cannot, since I do not believe that I have a spirit.  When I die, I die, and there is an end.  But the blessing of Heaven, ah! that can be bought, as I have proved once and again, if not with gold, then otherwise.  Did I not in bygone years pass the first son of my manhood through the fire to Baal-Sidon?  Nay, shrink not from me; it cost me dear, but my fortune was at stake, and better that the boy should die than that all of us should live on in penury and bonds.  Know you not, Prince, that the gods must have the gifts of the best, gifts of blood and virtue, or they will curse us and torment us?”

“I do not know it, Metem, for such gods are no gods, but devils, children of Beelzebub, who has no power over the righteous.  Truly I would have none of your two gods, Phoenician; upon earth the god of gold, and in heaven the devil of slaughter.”

“Speak no ill of him, Prince,” answered Metem solemnly, “for here you are not in the courts of Jehovah, but in his land, and he may chance to prove his power on you.  For the rest, I had sooner follow after gold than the folly of a drunken spirit which you name Love, seeing that it works its votary less mischief.  Say now, it was a woman and her love that drove you hither to this wild land, was it not, Prince?  Well, be careful lest a woman and her love should keep you here.”

“The sun sets,” said Aziel coldly; “let us go forward.”

With a bow and a murmured salute, for his quick courtier instinct told him that he had spoken too freely, Metem took the bridle of the prince’s mule, holding the stirrup while he mounted.  Then he turned to seek his own, but the animal had wandered, and a full half hour went by before it could be captured.