A lover's perceptions are not easily deceived; neither veil nor mantle can hide that subtle, mysterious idiosyncrasy which makes the one woman, while wholly distinct from the rest, a type and ideal of her sex. It was indeed Ishtar whom Sarchedon had seen amongst the spectators of his entry into Ascalon, nor is it necessary to add that she had recognised him almost ere he passed through the gate. In those long weary days since they parted, how many drink-offerings had she poured out, how many prayers had she offered to Baal, Nebo, Merodach, all the host of heaven, especially to Ashtaroth, Queen of Love and Light! Behold them accepted and answered now! Her lover was in the same town with her; all the cunning she had practised to keep him at bay whose ardour she so loathed—her assumed fatigue, her feigned sickness, her feminine arts of defence—were to be rewarded at last. Doubtless she would meet Sarchedon in the streets—on the wall—what matter where?—before another sun had set; and to look in his face, if only once again, would be happiness enough for Ishtar. Her influence over the volatile young prince gave her authority in his household, so that she could roam unquestioned through all parts of the town and fortress where he reigned supreme. Sarchedon, tossing uneasily on his couch, little thought whose hand had trimmed the lamp by his head, strewn the rushes on his floor, and filled with the purest coldest water in Ascalon the pitcher that stood ready to his hand.

During the first watch of night, Ishtar paced to and fro in her own chamber, restless, perturbed, fevered with a wild joy far too keen for happiness, her whole being, sense, heart, and brain, filled with the image of the man she loved. When the archers had been relieved on the wall, and the spearman's echoing tread had died out among the ramparts, a well-known footfall passed along the gallery to her chamber: she recognised, with indescribable fear and loathing, the step of the man who loved her!

Ninyas, weary of a banquet too late prolonged, of wine poured out too freely, tresses unbound too readily, smiles lavished ere he provoked them, and favours offered that he had little inclination to ask, broke up the sitting with less than his usual cordiality, and flung his festive garland under foot with something of the petulance shown by a spoiled child, that destroys its playthings because of the one unattainable gaud it has been forbidden to possess.

His male attendants discreetly emptied their goblets and held their peace; but some of the women showed signs of displeasure and discontent ere they withdrew; Rekamat, indeed, a comely dame from the northern mountains beyond Nineveh, who deemed her own ruddy cheeks and amber hair too rare beauties thus to be wasted in Ascalon, spoke her mind freely enough.

"My lord is wrath," said she, "with his handmaidens, because, forsooth, we grudge neither word nor deed, dance nor song, to do him honour. Shall we not rejoice in the light of his countenance, as the golden fruit of the palm deepens under the rays of a southern sun? When the date is ripe it should be gathered ere it fall."

"The dates are musty, and the palm-tree bare," answered Ninyas; "I am weary of it all!"

"Let not the anger of my lord be kindled," replied Rekamat in a voice that betrayed considerable irritation, "while I tell him he is plunging his hand through the thorns to pluck a cluster of wild-grapes; he is pouring streams of fair water on a growth of bitter wormwood, and yoking a team of oxen to plough the desert sand. O, my lord, have you not free choice among all the birds of heaven? and cannot you refrain from the poor gray linnet that sits sad and moulting in her cage?"

"The linnet's plumage is sleek, and her song pleasant to hear," retorted Ninyas with a mocking laugh. "The vulture's neck is bare and peeled, her voice an ugly croak."

"I thank my lord for the comparison," replied Rekamat, now quivering with vexation. "He used not to think so when he hunted the lion under the walls of Nineveh: the vulture had bright eyes and sweet tones when she flapped her wings in Babylon before the Egyptian campaign, and my lord seemed well-pleased to find her hovering over him in Ascalon when he arrived with half-a-score of attendants, and a maiden swaddled up in sere-cloths on a dromedary. O that I had never come here! never seen this hideous, hot, and hateful town! never, never, never looked on the face of my lord!"

Skilful in the science of such warfare, Rekamat burst into a storm of sobs, veiling her bright face with her delicate hands, to hide the tears, which were not perhaps forthcoming so freely as she could wish.

It was no part of the prince's nature to soften at sight of a woman's distress, real or simulated. He laughed heartily now, and she turned on him like a tigress.

"My lord has yet to learn the first lessons of manhood!" she exclaimed. "What do I say? Am I not a fool to look for a warrior's beard on a boy's chin? Out on the smooth cheek and the white skin! Give me the heart, I say. As bright Ashtaroth is my witness, I would I were Prince Ninyas but for a single day!"

She was very handsome with her burning cheeks and flashing eyes. It may be, that all the evil in her listener's disposition woke up at her petulance and audacity; but his countenance remained unmoved, his voice seemed unusually gentle, while he asked, "Why?"

She looked in his face scared, dominated by the quiet tones that to her feminine apprehension seemed more threatening than the loudest outbreak of wrath.

"Why?" she repeated. "Because I would cherish the faithful heart that beats only for me, while the stubborn slave who dared to mock my power should be thrust out with scorn into the wilderness."

"Have you done?" asked Ninyas, still in the same placid tones, with the same hard unchanging smile.

She fell at his feet now, and her tears began to flow in sad earnest. In her anger, she had been ready enough to run the risk of offending him; but she shrank from paying the penalty.

"I am but as dust in the sight of my lord," was her reply. "It is for the prince to command, and for his handmaid to obey."

"To-morrow, at dawn," said Ninyas, "you will sit in the gate of the city, with your garments rent and ashes scattered on your head. In the sight of archers and spearmen, and all the people of Ascalon, you will draw water from the well to wash the feet of Ishtar, as she takes her place of honour, doing homage to the beauty of her who is the chosen of your lord. I have spoken."

Then he turned coldly away, leaving the prostrate beauty cowed and defeated, though maddened with the bitter prospect of her humiliation.

Notwithstanding his self-assertion, however, Ninyas proceeded on his undertaking with feelings of considerable annoyance and ill-humour. To be baffled by one woman was bad enough, but to be flouted for his failure by another was irritating in the extreme. He resolved that this trifling must be borne no longer, that the royal favour he offered must be accepted forthwith. What! the girl was in his power, after all! He had not wavered when her father lay slain on his own hearth; why should he hesitate now? She must be taught her lesson, here in this grim lonely fortress, and learn to accept with becoming gratitude the honours thrust upon her by the gods.

Bold, reckless, unfeeling, he possessed the chief elements of success; but he was young, and left out of his calculations the thousand wiles and stratagems through which, in all encounters of their wits, a man is invariably out-manoeuvred by a woman.

While he entered her chamber, the girl felt her heart stop beating and her whole frame tremble like a leaf. She dropped her veil, nevertheless, with a steady hand, standing erect, to all appearance calm and motionless as a statue.

A flaring torch of pine-wood, dipped in pitch and fixed in a ring of bronze against the wall, shed its wavering glare on these two comely figures, playing over the sparkling jewels and festive garments of the one, while it deepened into gloom and mystery the shrouded outline of the other. Costly articles of furniture were scattered about the apartment, such as ivory couches, dressed skins of beasts, silken cushions, and tables of elaborate Egyptian carving. On one of these stood two jewelled cups, and a flagon sparkling with amber wine from the south.

Ninyas paused at the threshold; then advancing on that silent inmate, took her hand, and passed his arm round her waist.

"I have quitted lighted hall," said he, "and circling wine-cup, because of the Lily of Ascalon, without whom there seems no savour in the feast, no mirth in the revellers. My lily is drooping here in solitude—lo, I come to transplant her to a fairer garden and a richer soil."

Quick as thought she flashed one glance into his beautiful face, and made up her mind even while she looked.

"His servant felt cruelly disappointed that my lord bade her not to the banquet," was the deceitful answer. "It is to my shame and sorrow, if I have in any way displeased my lord."

Thus speaking, she disengaged herself gently from the encircling arm, and fell at his feet in an attitude that expressed the utmost humility, but made it exceedingly difficult for Ninyas to embrace her again.

"You know," said he, "that you are always welcome to your prince. Come when she will and how she will, he only desires to lay the lily in his bosom, and place Ishtar beside him on a throne."

"Then my lord is no longer wroth with his handmaid," said she, unveiling and rising to her feet, while she called into her beautiful eyes a look that thrilled her admirer to the core. "I have sat here silent and sad, thinking that the cloud between us was never to pass away. Lo, my lord looks favourably on his servant, and she is glad in the light of his smile once more."

Rejoiced, no less than surprised, by the happy turn matters seemed to have taken, pluming himself also on his own wisdom in having left her for a space to herself, all the heart Ninyas possessed flew to his lips while he exclaimed:

"I love you, Ishtar! love you better than power, riches, a warrior's fame, a king's throne, the wine I drink, the very air I breathe! O, I love you so, my pure and precious pearl, that I sometimes think the pleasure can never pay me for the pain!"

Fickle, self-indulgent, unstable as he was, yet in the fierce impulsive ardour of his youth he meant it—honestly and heartily—for the time.

Ishtar could not repress a sense of triumph in the consciousness of her power—a power that should serve to baffle the gaoler even now, and unlock the prison door.

His eyes followed her with fond glances, while she moved to the table and filled a wine-cup to the brim. It must have been a colder nature than his that could resist the winning grace with which she offered him to drink.

"My lord will not refuse to pledge his handmaid," said she, "in token of forgiveness and good-will?"

He emptied the cup at a draught; for indeed to this impulsive young prince there was a keen zest in every phase of luxury and indulgence: the lust of the eye, the pleasures of the senses, feast and frolic, wine and women—he loved them all too well. It was the strongest vintage of the South, and succeeding his previous potations, its effects were apparent at once. His cheek paled, his glance wandered, there came a thickness in his speech, while he sank among shawls and cushions, inviting Ishtar to sit beside him on the couch. Though it sickened her, she suffered him to caress her hands, her arms, the fragrant wealth of her flowing hair. Once more she filled for him. Once more he drank to her beauty, her promotion, her coming happiness.

She had ceased to fear him now; for the strong wine, though it blazed in his eyes and inflamed his senses, fastened his limbs, like a chain of iron, to the couch.

Stretching his arms back to embrace her with the caressing gesture of a child, he looked up in her face, betraying even more of mirth than either love or longing in his own.

She watched him, as the physician watches the sick man about to die; and though an icy cold crept over her, she never smiled more sweetly than while she took his beautiful head in her hands and pillowed it on her own beating heart.

In that fair smooth bosom thoughts of agony and horror were lurking, as there are foul monsters and hideous secrets, wrecks and remnants and dead men's bones, hidden beneath the smiling surface of the sea. She longed for the wine to work its office—all the more wildly that he wore a dagger in his girdle—and she prayed with her whole heart she might not be driven to use that.

Softly, sweetly, she sang him a drowsy lullaby, not a quiver on her lip nor tremble in her voice, while she soothed him with tender care, like a mother hushing off her child.

At last! He would not wake now till dawn. She kept her eyes from his dagger, lest she might be tempted to make too sure; then disengaged herself with cautious sinuous dexterity from the undisturbed sleeper, and, slipping the ring off his finger, stole noiseless as a shadow from the place.