"Speak!" he said. "What will you?"
"I hoped--you had almost promised me--" She stammered and was confused;
then suddenly: "Why do you despise me? what have I forgotten in
the rites? You are my master, and you told me that no one was so
accomplished in the things pertaining to the goddess as I; but there are
some of which you will not speak. Is it so, O father?"
Schahabarim remembered Hamilcar's orders, and replied:
"No, I have nothing more to teach you!"
"A genius," she resumed, "impels me to this love. I have climbed the
steps of Eschmoun, god of the planets and intelligences; I have slept
beneath the golden olive of Melkarth, patron of the Tyrian colonies;
I have pushed open the doors of Baal-Khamon, the enlightener and
fertiliser; I have sacrificed to the subterranean Kabiri, to the gods
of woods, winds, rivers and mountains; but, can you understand? they
are all too far away, too high, too insensible, while she--I feel
her mingled in my life; she fills my soul, and I quiver with inward
startings, as though she were leaping in order to escape. Methinks I am
about to hear her voice, and see her face, lightnings dazzle me and then
I sink back again into the darkness."
Schahabarim was silent. She entreated him with suppliant looks.
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