A number of people, hearing that the prophet Jonah was in town, had gathered in the street, to gaze at the man who had won a victory over the Aramæans. When they saw Jonah they waved their sticks and shawls, and cried, “Hurrah for the prophet.” “God bless Jonah.” “There is a great man; just look at him.” One old woman came hobbling forward, to touch the hem of his cloak. Jonah did not even see her. His eyes, hot with anger, were on the ground; he saw the dust, and the tip of his own beard. Finding an old woman in his path, he gave her a shove; whereat she fell with a bump to the ground. “Oh my,” she said, when she had got her breath. “Oh my. Well, there’s a great man for you. Tst; I feel better already.” XI Hiram, the Phœnician, was short, dark, and compactly built. His hair was curled and oily; his body, dressed in richest silks, and in linens forbidden to the Jews, exhaled an arresting fragrance. He walked in the garden with Judith and her nurse, Sarah, as evening was falling. “Redder roses than these,” he said, “bloom in the gardens of Tyre. The serpent priestesses of Astarte, the Kedeshoth, wear them in their hair at the festival of their goddess, who reigns in Sidon as the deity of cows, but in Tyre as the goddess of doves.” He had about him an air of the world, of cities by the shores of seas, of mountains far away. As he stood on the terrace at Gath-Hepher, his dark, shrewd eyes seemed to behold in the distance the white domes of Tyre, shining above the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean. “He reminds me of a man I knew long ago,” said Sarah to Judith in a low voice; “he was a camel driver, and he had been everywhere.” The Phœnician went on to describe the wonders of his country; the mighty trees of Lebanon, from which Solomon’s Temple had been built, the markets of Acre, with their silks, fruits, and ivory, the Temple of Melcarth, Baal of Tyre, with its two great pillars of marble and gold. He told them of the spacious Temple of Atareatis at Ascalon, with its pool in which floated sacred fish adorned with ornaments of gold. “At Aphaca,” he said, “there is a temple dedicated to Astarte, with a pool into which gifts are thrown by her worshippers. Once a year this pool is visited by the goddess in the form of a falling star. It is a marvelous sight and makes one very thoughtful.” “How strange,” said Judith. “And how I should love to see such a thing.” Hiram looked at her proudly. “You can understand,” he said, “that your temples do not compare with ours. In the first place, ours is a very old country. And then, our religion is not like yours. Our gods have faces you can look at, and love.” “Yes,” said Judith, thinking of her little silver dove.