In little groups, or one by one, the more venturous or the less credulous of the people re-entered the pavilion. Hiram had taken his throne. There was no mistaking his person. He wore the conical cap with the uræus, the scarf across his bare breast, the short chiton and heavy sandals, by which his form was familiar to even the boys as well as to the great councillors of Tyre. As Hiram gazed at the returning people an old man came tottering to the foot of the dais. He threw himself upon the lowest step. He was Ahimelek. "Rise, Ahimelek, Councillor of Tyre!" said the king. But he moved not. An attendant approached him. He was dead. A commotion was made at the rear of the pavilion. Two men, the captain of the Samaritans and the captain of the men of Galilee, brought before the king the limp form of Egbalus. The miserable man turned to flee, but his captors kept his face to the throne. At length he gathered strength. That tremendous will which had so often dominated others asserted its mastery over himself. He looked Hiram squarely in the eyes. "Thou hast conquered, O infidel king! But thou shalt not have me to grace thy triumph." Before his guards were aware of his purpose, he had plunged his priest's knife to his heart. "Take him away!" coolly said the king. In the meantime men had gone to the king's palace, where Rubaal and a few of his favorites had awaited the summons to join the coronation procession. Wearied by the delay, they had ventured to the door, but found it fastened. Their cries for help were answered by the shouts which shook the city. But now the gates were flung open. Rough soldiers thrust Rubaal into a common palanquin, such as was cheaply hired at the docks, and bore him to the pavilion. There the carriage was opened. Rubaal crouched within it like a rat in a trap. The soldiers dragged him out. His brave apparel, royal from purple mantle to diamond-set sandals, was as strange a contrast with the simple garb of the real king as the kingly look of Hiram was with the mean and cowardly aspect of Rubaal. "Harm him not," said the king. "There is a drop of royal blood somewhere in his body. You might spill that drop if you spilled more. All royalty is safe to-day. Come, cousin, sit in my chair if you like. We have played together in the same crib. Ah! in ill-humor again! Just so you were as a child." The wretched man slunk away, and sat with averted face on the edge of the dais. The king stepped down from his throne, and stood a moment over the dead body of Ahimelek. "The gods pardon him! Carry him to his house, and prepare him for the tomb, where we will ourselves accompany him; for he was the father of Zillah." Reascending the dais, he turned to Hanno, who during these scenes had stood almost motionless, watching everything, and alert lest his plan should miscarry in the least-- "Now, Hanno, for the coronation!"