blood overspread her
dark cheek. "I would--I know not what I would, saving to thank thee for
thy goodness and kindness--I was unhappy, and thou hast comforted me. I
meant not that it was best that I should not look upon the king's face."
She spoke the last words in so low a tone as she bent her head, that
Darius could scarcely hear them. But his willing ears interpreted
rightly what she said, and he understood.

"Shall I come to you to-morrow, princess, at the same hour?" he asked,
almost humbly.

"Nay, the king knoweth that the garden is ever full of the women of the
court," said Nehushta, hesitating; for she thought that it would be a
very different matter to be seen from a distance by all the ladies of
the palace in conversation with the king.

"Do not fear," answered Darius. "The garden shall be yours. There are
other bowers of roses in Shushan whither the women can go. None but you
shall enter here, so long as it be your pleasure. Farewell, I will come
to you to-morrow at noon."

He turned and looked into her eyes, and then she took his hand and
silently placed it upon her forehead in thanks. In a moment he was gone
and she could hear his quick tread upon the marble of the steps outside,
and in the path through the roses. When she knew that he was out of
sight, Nehushta went out and stood in the broad blaze of the noonday
sun. She passed her hand over her forehead, as though she had been
dazed. It seemed as though a change had come over her and she could not
understand it.

In the glad security of being alone, she ran swiftly down one of the
paths, and across by another. Then she stopped short and bent down a
great bough of blooming roses and buried her beautiful dark face in the
sweet leaves and smelled the perfume, and laughed.

"Oh! I am so happy!" she cried aloud. But her face suddenly became
grave, as she tried to understand what she felt. After all, Zoroaster
was only gone for twelve days, and meanwhile she had secured her
liberty, the freedom of wandering all day in the beautiful gardens, and
she could dream of him to her heart's content. And the letter? It was a
forgery, of course. That wicked queen loved Zoroaster and wished to make
Nehushta give him up! Perhaps she might tell the king something of it
when he came on the next day. He would be so royally angry! He would so
hate the lie! And yet, in some way, it seemed to her that she could not
tell Darius of this trouble. He had been so kind, so gen