He prayed; to whom? He knew not; but still he prayed. For what? Not for himself; it was too late for that. He prayed for Hanno; that, in the desperation of his love, he might not attempt to make good his pledge of dying with his king; that he might be restrained from making a useless assault upon the priests, or from throwing himself into the flames. Then he prayed for her who was more to him than life--for Zillah. He gathered up his whole soul in a loving thought of her, and laid it--where? Upon the highest altar in the highest heavens, if there were any such place where pity for mortals existed. Then, as the sweet face of his beloved one filled his imagination, a tear fell--the first during all these days of agony; for the bodily humors seemed to have been dried by the hot fury of his grief. The tear fell upon his hand. He bowed to kiss it, because it fell for her. As he did so, his eye caught a spot of gleaming red in the white rug. Mechanically, without definite purpose in doing so, he traced the red line as it ran through the silken nap. It took shape. A wing!--and a circle! It was only a half-conscious thought--"The Winged Circle," such as was used as a religious device by the Persians, and was also carved on the stone architraves of some temples of Astarte. Then the full thought flashed upon him, "The mark of the circle!" Hanno's sign! Was it designed? He raised the rug. A similar mark was rudely scratched upon a broad stone that lay just beneath it. He felt the edge of the stone. It moved. A tilting stone! He lifted it a little. A cool and dank air rushed out. This, surely, was a door into some passage! By a little exertion he was able to swing the stone upon its edge. Adjusting the rug over it in such a way that it would again cover the stone when restored to its horizontal position, he let himself carefully down through the opening. So strong was the draught of air that he scarcely needed to feel his way by touching the wall on either side, but guided himself very much as he had sometimes done when, on a dark night at sea, he helmed his ship by feeling the wind against his cheek. He thought of this just for an instant, but it was long enough to think of Hanno too, as, in their last sail, they had steered the craft together. He could not restrain a subdued cry of gratitude. "Noble fellow! Thy hand is on the other oar, as thou didst pledge. Thou art the only god that is left to me!"