"and I know not which
shall be fed first. As for the king, I know that he will be great, and
will hold securely the throne, for he has already the love of the people
from the Western sea to the wild Eastern mountains. But it seemed as
though the seven princes would have divided the empire amongst them,
until this news came. I think he will more likely take one of your
people for his close friend than trust to the princes. As for our
journey, we must depart betimes, or the king will have gone before us
from Shushan to Stakhar in the south, where they say he will build
himself a royal dwelling and stay in the coming winter time. Prepare
yourself for the journey, therefore, my princess, lest anything be
forgotten and you should be deprived of what you need for any time."

"I am never deprived of what I need," said Nehushta, half in pride and
half in jest.

"Nor I, when I am with my beloved!" answered the Persian. "And now the
moon is high, and I must bear this news to our master, the prophet."

"So soon?" said Nehushta reproachfully, and she turned her head away.

"I would there were no partings, my beloved, even for the space of an
hour," answered Zoroaster, tenderly drawing her to him; but she resisted
a little and would not look at him.

"Farewell now--good-night, my princess--light of my soul;" he kissed her
dark cheek passionately. "Good-night!"

He trod swiftly across the terrace.

"Zoroaster! prince!" Nehushta called aloud, but without turning. He
came back. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him almost
desperately. Then she pushed him gently away from her.

"Go--my love--only that," she murmured, and he left her standing by the
marble balustrade, while the yellow moon turned slowly pale as she rose
in the heavens, and the song of the lorn nightingale re-echoed in the
still night, from the gardens to the towers, in long sweet cries of
burning love, and soft, complaining, silvery notes of mingled sorrow and
joy.

CHAPTER III.

In the prophet's chamber, also, the moonbeams fell upon the marble
floor; but a seven-beaked Hebrew lamp of bronze shed a warmer light
around, soft and mellow, yet strong enough to illuminate the scroll that
lay open upon the old man's knee. His brows were knit together, and the
furrows on his face were shaded deeply by the high light, as he sat
propped among many cushions and wrapped in his ample purple cloak that
was thickly lined with fur and drawn together over