lowered their beloved master with linen bands to his last
resting-place, and the women came near with boxes of nard and ambergris
and precious ointments, Zoroaster looked long and fixedly at the swathed
head, and the tears rolled down his cheeks and dropped upon his beard
and upon the marble of the coffin; till at last he turned in silence,
and went away through the multitude that parted before him, as pale as
the dead and answering no man's greeting, nor even glancing at Nehushta
who had stood at his elbow. And he went away and hid himself for the
rest of that day.

But in the evening, when the sun was gone down, he came and stood upon
the terrace in the darkness, for there was no moon. He wore again his
arms, and his purple cloak was about him, for he had his duty to perform
in visiting the fortress. The starlight glimmered faintly on his
polished helmet and duskily made visible his marble features and his
beard. He stood with his back to the pillars of the balustrade, looking
towards the myrtles of the garden, for he knew that Nehushta would come
to the wonted tryst. He waited long, but at last he heard a step upon
the gravel path and the rustle of the myrtles, and presently in the
faint light he could see the white skirt of her garment beneath the dark
mantle moving swiftly towards him. He sprang forward to meet her and
would have taken her in his arms, but she put him back and looked away
from him while she walked slowly to the front of the terrace. Even in
the gloom of the starlight Zoroaster could see that something had
offended her, and a cold weight seemed to fall upon his breast and
chilled the rising words of loving greeting.

Zoroaster followed her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
Unresponsive, she allowed it to remain there.

"My beloved," he said at last, trying in vain to look into her averted
face, "have you no word for me to-night?" Still she answered nothing.
"Has your sorrow made you forget our love?" he murmured close to her
ear. She started back from him a little and looked at him. Even in the
dusk he could see her eyes flash as she answered:

"Had not your own sorrow so utterly got the mastery over you to-day that
you even refused to look at me?" she asked. "In all that long hour when
we were so near together, did you give me one glance? You had forgotten
me in the extremity of your grief!" she cried, scornfully. "And now that
the first torrent of your tears has dwindled to a little stream,