e out with mystic sheen;
her raven tresses trailed the floor; her gloomy garments lay in graceful
folds, dark as the midnight sky without a star or moon, and standing
thus, she invoked the goddess Hecate.

This done, she lit the altar's sacred fire, and incense burnt until the
room was filled with odour and the light from the golden lamp grew dim.

Her lips parted, and a silvery voice issued, murmuring softly:

Spirits of the mighty ocean,
Ye who lie beneath the waters,
Down--down--fathoms deep!
Ye who roam 'twixt here and Sidon,
Ye who lure the ships to ruin,
Ye who haunt the fated vessel,
Lighting up her masts and cordage
With your quenchless tongues of fire;
Stormy petrels of the sea-foam,
Swiftest of your countless legions,
Appear! Appear!

'Ye are come! Hear me!

'A Roman bore from Britons' land, stole from thence with artful wiles, a
maiden blessed with rarest beauty--cheeks of olive, raven hair, eyes of
darkest midnight hue, soul as pure as the morning light. He took her to
Sidon. He left her--he left her and her child. Troop your way with speed
to Sidon. Solve the story which I tell you. Bring me answer from
Phoenicia.'

The spirits of the deep bent low their shadowy forms; one by one quickly
snatched a grain of burning incense from the altar fire, placed the
sparks upon their awful brows, rose together, met the storm-wind howling
fiercely, passed it faster than conception, skimmed the foaming crests
of billows, swooped again o'er struggling biremes with their crews of
doomed seamen. Flew they on with awful swiftness, till the air waves
left behind them wound the earth in many circles, till the silent city
Sidon slept beneath their hovering pinions; glanced their message to the
spirit--Spirit Prince of Ashtoreth. Gained their answer, sailed they
westward to Ionia, faster than the coming day-dawn; stood before the
great Saronia; hailed her priestess of Diana; whispered forth with
frightful meaning:

'Thou thyself, from her begotten, standest first amongst all women. She,
thy mother, princess, priestess, died uncared for, unbeloved--died a
rebel to our goddess, worshipping the Jewish Christ--name we scarcely
dare to mention.'

Saronia beckoned them away, and when they had fled a tremor seized her;
she staggered to a seat, muttering:

'I, also, am a rebel, and worship Eros.'

Starting to her feet, she said:

'Who is this Christ?'

Stretching her arms