The priests ordered that the body should be left where it had fallen until swift couriers had run to Gebal, where Ahimelek had taken advantage of the coming exaltation of his daughter to the priesthood of Astarte, to demand the monopoly of supplying the provisions that were sold to the caterers at Apheca during the festival--a source of enormous revenues. His presence at Gebal had been sufficient to secure the discomfiture of all competitors for the trade, and many of his ships had exchanged their cargoes for the gold of the venders at the dock. Just before the priestly couriers brought him the news of Zillah's supposed death, a messenger had come from Tyre to Gebal, conveying a letter which had been discovered in her chamber after the family party had left their home. It read: "MY FATHER,--A daughter's obedience is sacred while the life he has given her remains. But I cannot endure the severity of your command. With your permission I once gave myself to King Hiram. I cannot recall this betrothal. To him I shall go. This will explain anything that may occur at the festival of Tammuz. ZILLAH." On reading the letter, Ahimelek's rage knew no bounds. He cursed his daughter aloud in the hearing of the bystanders. He cursed the name of Hiram, and defied him to appear to him as god or jinn or ghost. He even challenged Baal himself to thus circumvent the will of the richest man of Phoenicia--one who held the welfare of the state religion at his disposal. "Let the Temple of Melkarth fall! Let the image of the god rot!" he exclaimed, in his insane rage. Other couriers then arrived bringing the news of Zillah's death. "Killed by her maid, who has escaped," they explained. The remnant of fatherly instinct asserted itself for a moment in Ahimelek's breast. "My daughter! My daughter!" he cried, sitting upon the ground, and covering his face with his hands. But the gentler mood gave way to his wrath, as on the Fire Night the flames in the grove of Apheca caught the unburnt trees. He held the letter in his hand, which trembled with his frenzy. Bewildered with his anger, he read it aloud. "She has slain herself!" he cried. "Curse! curse! A father's curse upon the suicide! She has robbed me of my riches, of my honor. And you priests, see you not she has robbed you? robbed Melkarth? robbed the king? robbed Tyre?" Then, as the fire dies down when resinous matter has been consumed, so he buried his head in his hands and moaned. "My child! my Zillah!" The priests waited his commands. By custom one who betrayed Astarte on such occasions was thrown into the pool of Apheca. With difficulty they aroused the wretched man to understand the situation. He stared stupidly at them for a time. His mind was evidently giving way in the fierce contention of his grief and rage. Suddenly he rose, pale with passion. "Her body to the pool!" he shouted, and fell as if dead upon the floor.