A venerable priest advanced from the cowering throng midway the open space, and raised his knife with a loud cry: "I, too, would come to thee, O Baal!" He plunged the gleaming blade into his own heart. Scores of knives flashed in the hands of the demented priests about him, as if they, also, were waiting the audible summons to follow. Suddenly Egbalus reappeared. He beckoned those nearest. He called for Hanno, but the new enthusiasm had proved too much for the neophyte, untrained to such deep emotions, and he lay a heaving heap of unconscious devotion. Egbalus selected two attendants, and with them re-entered the Holy Place. Would the god have more? No; Baal was satisfied; for, see! the three priests emerge, not one of them blasted to a walking cinder, nor ascending in a flame of fire. They talked excitedly. Egbalus lifted his hand. Suddenly the long blare of a trumpet announced the termination of the sacrifice. The crowds were not allowed to re-enter the enclosure, but betook themselves, some to Tyre or to their ships, some over the hills to the inland villages, others along the coast--on foot, in litters, on mules and camels and stately steeds--all scattering, to astound the world with their reports of the miracle. The setting sun flashed its red rays upon the leaning figure of Baal, that seemed to bow in obeisance to the god of day. Only the priests remained to watch until Astarte, smiling in the crescent moon, wrote her benediction with the silvery beams she threw over the scene. CHAPTER XI. Had King Hiram vanished into the mystery of Baal? No. He had vanished under a mystery of Hanno. When Hiram entered the sacred pavilion the place was exceedingly dark by reason of the heavy curtains that enclosed it, and the glare of the outer light that he had just left, for the instant, prevented his eyes from adapting themselves to their new environment. By degrees his power of vision was regained. He observed that the tapestried walls were wrought with the various symbols of worship; the sun of Baal, the moon of Astarte, the fish of Dagon, the star of Adonis, and the like. Beneath his feet lay a rug of silken shreds, pure white. He threw himself down upon this to collect his thoughts; to gather up his strength for the final act in this terrible tragedy. Surely Hanno's hopeful words had been merely to cheer him; they meant nothing, or his friend's plans for his rescue had miscarried. There was now no escape.