The royal palanquin awaited him in the court. It had been covered with a white cloth canopy and curtains which completely enveloped it, and concealed his person from all eyes. The priests became his bearers. A line of them marched ahead, playing lugubrious notes on pipes of reed, above which rose the words of a chant. As the procession wound its way across the Great Square the multitudes prostrated themselves on either hand, murmuring prayers and benedictions upon the royal deliverer of Tyre. At the temple gate the popular reverence and awe were evinced by intense silence. Not a form swayed, not a foot was lifted, not a word was spoken. Only the slow-timed tramp of the bearers of the royal victim broke the stillness as the cortège passed between the massive gates, which slowly swung upon their hinges and closed again. For three days King Hiram remained alone in the chief chamber, that which opened upon the corridor of the sacred lake. Priests incessantly patrolled back and forth, saying nothing except their prayers. They brought him food in golden dishes, and left it, removing the remnants in the same reverential manner in which they would have served at the altar. As the silence of the day turned into the deeper silence of the night, and back again to silent day, the solitude became unendurable. Only royal pride prevented Hiram asking some question of his obsequious custodians. When would the sacrifice be accomplished? Was there no communication for him from Zillah? Could he bribe any of these bigots to confer with Captain Hanno? Now he was tempted to rush upon one of the priests, seize his sacrificial knife, plunge it into the man's heart, and then into his own. He was once in this latter mood, and on the very point of executing his purpose, when the priest who would have been his victim began to mumble his prayers. "I will wait until the wretch has got through that. He will need all his prayers for his last breath," muttered the king. The man beat upon his breast and tore his hair, as if in some sacred frenzy. He came nearer to Hiram's chamber entrance, and paused in his walking, with his back to the king. "The gods favor me for once," thought Hiram. "Now to throttle him and to strike!" The priest raised his voice in praying, so that Hiram caught the words "Take heart! Be watchful!" A sudden glance at the half-turned face revealed the familiar features of Hanno. All Hiram's self-possession was needed to restrain a cry of recognition. The next day the eccentric priest appeared again, and paused to pray at the same spot. He stretched out his hands towards the Maabed, and, as if addressing the deity enshrined in the midst of the water, prayed thus: "O Baal Hiram, King of Tyre! keep thine eyes open for the mark of a circle, and follow it. O Baal Melkarth! O Astarte, Queen of Heaven! send prosperity!" CHAPTER IX.