"What is your message to me by the mark of the circle?" "You know its meaning better than I," rejoined the stranger, bowing in profound respect. "Am I to go with you?" "I am to do your bidding, my lady." The man made obeisance, touching the ground with his forehead. "My life is pledged to bring you to him who wrought the symbol on my breast." "And he?" "Marduk, of Tyre." "I know none such. Is he not Hanno, the priest?" "I only know him as Marduk, the merchant of Tyre." "Tall, with shaved head, and eyes full of subtle wisdom?" "No. Of my own stature, with hair black as the raven's; of open face. His beard conceals a scar of a wound received in fight." "A scar! Is he a man? Is he not a god?" "More godlike than any god of the Phoenicians; yet a man, indeed." Zillah sat motionless, her head pressed against her hand in deep thought. "I cannot understand it," she said, at length. "Mystery! mystery! Oh, I do not know--I cannot see!" and she stared into the shadows as one walking in sleep. "Nor I, my lady. I only know that I am here to obey you. Command me!" "And I will obey the sign," said Zillah. "Let me look upon it again. 'Tis a circle, surely; and 'tis blood-red. I must follow it." "And follow me?" "Yes--to him! to him!" "Let me leave you, then, my lady. You will know my face or my voice; for I must let no eyes but yours look upon the symbol. To-night I will be beside the pavilion. Another will accompany me whom you may trust, for we both serve a man we love; one to whom we have vowed secrecy and service." "Before what god have you vowed?" "Before no god, but by all that is meant by man's honor. And, by all that is meant"--he paused before he added--"by all that is meant by the sanctity of womanhood. I swear by the life I have saved this hour--and I know of nothing more sacred, since what I have witnessed--I swear that no harm shall come to you. If mistake has happened in the person of her I seek, or in him you seek, I swear by your own life to return with you to your father's house. Can I do more?" "I will follow the mark of the circle wherever it may lead," said Zillah. The stranger withdrew from the apartment. The priests met him without. They led him to the clerk of the temple, before whom he took the oath that the sacrifice to Astarte had been rendered. Zillah sought the adjacent apartment of Layah. Upon the ground lay the prostrate form of the girl. A pool of blood told the story of her sacrifice, not to Astarte, but to friendship; to that love of woman for woman, holier than the debauched heathenism of the world ever conceived or tried to express through its rituals. Zillah flung herself upon the body: "It is too much! too much! O my Layah! my sister! my mother! speak to me!" She kissed the silent lips, that seemed to smile at the touch, and gave into hers the last lingering warmth that had been life.