ted for him in the eight-sided pavilion, and as their
familiarity grew, the king would not even permit her to rise when he
came, nor to use any of those forms of the court speech which were so
distasteful to him. He simply sat himself down beside her, and talked to
her and listened to her answers, as though he were one of his own
subjects, no more hampered by the cares and state of royalty than any
soldier in the kingdom.

It was a week since Zoroaster had mounted to ride to Ecbatana, and
Darius sat as usual upon the marble bench by the side of Nehushta, who
rested among the cushions, talking now without constraint upon all
matters that chanced to occur as subjects of conversation. She thought
Darius was more silent than usual, and his dark face was pale. He seemed
weary, as though from some great struggle, and presently Nehushta
stopped speaking and waited to see whether the king would say anything.

During the silence nothing was heard saving the plash of the little
fountain, and the low soft ripple of the tiny waves that rocked
themselves against the edge of the basin.

"Do you know, Nehushta," he said at last, in a weary voice, "that I am
doing one of the worst actions of my life?"

Nehushta started, and the shadows in her face grew darker.

"Say rather the kindest action you ever did," she murmured.

"If it is not bad, it is foolish," said Darius, resting his chin upon
his hand and leaning forward. "I would rather it were foolish than
bad--I fear me it is both."

Nehushta could guess well enough what it was he would say. She knew she
could have turned the subject, or laughed, or interrupted him in many
ways; but she did none of these things. An indescribable longing seized
her to hear him say that he loved her. What could it matter? He was so
loyal and good that he could never be more than a friend. He was the
king of the world--had he not been honest and kind, he would have needed
no wooing to do as he pleased to do, utterly and entirely. A word from
his lips and the name of Zoroaster would be but the memory of a man
dead; and again a word, and Nehushta would be the king's wife! What need
had he of concealment, or of devious ways? He was the king of the earth,
whose shadow was life and death, whose slightest wish was a law to be
enforced by hundreds of thousands of warriors! There was nothing between
him and his desires--nothing but that inborn justice and truth, in which
he so royally believed. Nehushta fe