inks one single word, To mosque! only a rumour
and a false one. I'll never believe it; no, no, no, never, never! Is he
not the Lord's anointed? The ineffable curse upon this daughter ot the
Moabite! No marvel that it thunders! By heavens, I'll go and beard him
in his orgies!'

'You know your power better than Abidan. You bearded him before his
marriage, yet----'

'He married. Tis true. Honain, their chief. And I kept his ring! Honain
is my brother. Have I ne'er a dagger to cut the bond of brotherhood?'

'We have all daggers, Jabaster, if we knew but how to use them.'

''Tis strange, we met after twenty years of severance. You were not
in the chamber, Abidan. 'Twas at council. We met after twenty years of
severance. He is my brother. 'Tis strange, I say: I felt that man shrink
from my embrace.'

'Honain is a philosopher, and believes in sympathy. 'Twould appear there
was none between you. His system, then, absolves you from all ties.'

'You are sure the rest of the intelligence is true? I'll not believe the
mosque, the rest is bad enough.'

'Zalmunna left the banquet. Hassan Subah's brother sat above him.'

'Subah's brother! 'Tis all over, then. Is he of the council?'

'Ay, and others.'

'Where now is Israel?'

'She should be in her tents.'

'Woe! woe! unutterable woe!' exclaimed the prophetess, who, standing
motionless at the back of the chamber, seemed inattentive to their
conversation.

Jabaster paced the gallery with agitated steps. Suddenly he stopped,
and, walking up to Abidan, seized his arm, and looked him sternly in
the face. 'I know thy thoughts, Abidan,' exclaimed the priest; 'but it
cannot be. I have dismissed, henceforth and for ever I have dismissed
all feeling from my mind; now I have no brother, no friend, no pupil,
and, I fear, no Saviour. Israel is all in all to me. I have no other
life. 'Tis not compunction, then, that stays my arm. My heart's as hard
as thine.'

'Why stays it then?'

'Because with him we fall. He is the last of all his sacred line. There
is no other hand to grasp our sceptre.'

'_Our_ sceptre! what sceptre?'

'The sceptre of our kings.'

'Kings!'

'Ay, why dost thou look so dark?'

'How looked the prophet when the stiff-necked populace forsooth must
have a king! Did he smile? Did he shout, and clap his hands, and cry,
God save his Majesty! O, Jabaster! honoured, rare Jabaster! thou second
Samuel of our lightheaded people! there was a time when Israel had no