eeping time to the pulsing of two hearts
that are moved with the same eager desire--to conquer space, to devour
the distance, to attain the goal of the journey.

Artaban must indeed ride wisely and well if he would keep the appointed
hour with the other Magi; for the route was a hundred and fifty
parasangs, and fifteen was the utmost that he could travel in a day. But
he knew Vasda's strength, and pushed forward without anxiety, making the
fixed distance every day, though he must travel late into the night, and
in the morning long before sunrise.

He passed along the brown slopes of Mt. Orontes, furrowed by the rocky
courses of a hundred torrents.

He crossed the level plains of the Nisaeans, where the famous herds of
horses, feeding in the wide pastures, tossed their heads at Vasda's
approach, and galloped away with a thunder of many hoofs, and flocks of
wild birds rose suddenly from the swampy meadows, wheeling in great
circles with a shining flutter of innumerable wings and shrill cries of
surprise.

He traversed the fertile fields of Concabar, where the dust from the
threshing-floors filled the air with a golden mist, half hiding the
huge temple of Astarte with its four hundred pillars.

At Baghistan, among the rich gardens watered by fountains from the rock,
he looked up at the mountain thrusting its immense rugged brow out over
the road, and saw the figure of King Darius trampling upon his fallen
foes, and the proud list of his wars and conquests graven high upon the
face of the eternal cliff.

Over many a cold and desolate pass, crawling painfully across the
wind-swept shoulders of the hills; down many a black mountain-gorge,
where the river roared and raced before him like a savage guide; across
many a smiling vale, with terraces of yellow limestone full of vines and
fruit-trees; through the oak-groves of Carine and the dark Gates of
Zagros, walled in by precipices; into the ancient city of Chala, where
the people of Samaria had been kept in captivity long ago; and out again
by the mighty portal, riven through the encircling hills, where he saw
the image of the High Priest of the Magi sculptured on the wall of
rock, with hand uplifted as if to bless the centuries of pilgrims; past
the entrance of the narrow defile, filled from end to end with orchards
of peaches and figs, through which the river Gyndes foamed down to meet
him; over the broad rice-fields, where the autumnal vapours spread their
deathly mis