"It is here," she answered, and drew from her bosom a little papyrus
roll.
"Who wrote this?" he asked.
"I know not, Prince; it was given to me to pass on to you."
Then he opened the roll and read. It ran thus: "Though we parted with
bitter words, still in my sore distress I crave the comfort of your
counsel. Therefore, since I am forbidden to speak with you openly, meet
me, I beseech you, at moonrise in the palace garden under the shade of
the great fig tree with five roots, where I shall be accompanied only by
one I trust. Bring no man with you for my safety's sake.--Elissa."
Aziel thrust the scroll into his robe, and thought awhile. Then he gave
the waiting lady a piece of gold and said:--
"Tell her who sent you that I obey her words. Farewell."
This message seemed to puzzle the woman, who opened her lips to speak.
Then, changing her mind, she turned and went.
Scarcely had she gone when the Phoenician, Metem, was ushered into the
room.
"O Prince," he said maliciously, "pardon me if I caution you. Yet in
truth if veiled ladies flit thus through your apartments in the light of
day, it will reach the ears of the holy but violent Issachar, of whose
doings I come to speak. Then, Prince, I tremble for you."
Aziel made a movement half-impatient and half-contemptuous. "The woman
is a serving-maid," he said, "who brought me a message that I understand
but little.
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