roached the lonely hut, and tapped thrice--sharp
staccato knocks--at the door. The third one was answered. The door
swung back, and a dark damsel looked out.

"Is it thee, Pietro?"

"It is I, Zara."

He stepped in as he spoke, closed the door, took her face between his
hands, and kissed both brown cheeks. The girl's dark face lighted up
into the splendor of absolute beauty as she returned his caress.

"And how is it with thee, my Zara, and thy little one?"

"It is well. And thyself, Pietro?"

"Very well. And the mother?"

"Ah, the mother! Poor mother! She lies as you saw her last--as you
will always see her in this lower world--dead in life! And he"--the
girl Zara's eyes lighted fiercely up--"didst see him, Pietro?"

"I have seen him, spoken to him, told him the past, and terrified him
for the future. There is a son, Zara--a new-born son."

"Dog and son of a dog!" Zara cried, furiously. "May curses light upon
him in the hour of his birth, and upon all who bear his hated name!
Say, Pietro, why didst thou not strangle the little viper as you would
any other poisonous reptile?"

"My Zara, I did not even see him. He lies cradled in rose leaves, no
doubt, and the singing of the west wind is not sweet enough for his
lullaby. No profane eye must rest on this sacred treasure fresh from
the hands of the gods! Is he not the heir of Kingsland? But Achmet
the Astrologer has cast his horoscope, and Achmet, and Zara, his wife,
wilt see that the starry destiny is fulfilled. Shall we not?"

"If I only had him here," Zara cried, clawing the air with her two
hands, "I would throttle the baby snake, and fling him dead in his
father's face. And that father! Oh, burning alive would be far too
merciful for him!"

Achmet smiled, and drew her long black braids caressingly through his
fingers.

"You know how to hate, and you will teach our little one. Yes, the
fate I have foretold shall come to pass, and the son of Sir Jasper will
live to curse the day of his birth. And now I will remove my disguise,
and wash and breakfast, for I feel the calls of hunger."

The lower apartment of the hut on the heath was the very picture of
abject poverty and dreary desolation. The earthen floor was broken and
rough; the sunlight came sifting through the chinks in the broken
walls. A smoky fire of wet driftwood smoldered, under a pot on the
crook. There was neither table nor chairs. A straw pallet with a
wretched coverle