lt that she could trust him, and she
longed--out of mere curiosity, she thought--to hear him speak words of
love to her. It would only be for a moment--they would be so soon
spoken; and at her desire, he would surely not speak them again. It
seemed so sweet, she knew not why, to make this giant of despotic power
do as she pleased; to feel that she could check him, or let him
speak--him whom all obeyed and feared, as they feared death itself.

She looked up quietly, as she answered:

"How can it be either bad or foolish of you to make others so happy?"

"It seems as though it could be neither--and yet, all my reason tells me
it is both," replied the king earnestly. "Here I sit beside you, day
after day, deceiving myself with the thought that I am making your time
pass pleasantly till--"

"There is not any deception in that," interrupted Nehushta gently.
Somehow she did not wish him to pronounce Zoroaster's name. "I can never
tell you how grateful I am--"

"It is I who am grateful," interrupted the king in his turn. "It is I
who am grateful that I am allowed to be daily with you, and that you
speak with me, and seem glad when I come--" He hesitated and stopped.

"What is there that is bad and foolish in that?" asked Nehushta, with a
sudden smile, as she looked up into his face.

"There is more than I like to think," answered the king. "You say the
time passes pleasantly for you. Do you think it is less pleasant for
me?" His voice sank to a deep, soft tone, as he continued: "I sit here
day after day, and day after day I love you more and more. I love
you--where is the use of concealing that--if I could conceal it? You
know it. Perhaps you pity me, for you do not love me. You pity me who
hold the whole earth under my feet as an Egyptian juggler stands upon a
ball, and rolls it whither he will." He ceased suddenly.

"Indeed I would that you did not love me," said Nehushta very gravely.
She looked down. The pleasure of hearing the king's words was indeed
exquisite, and she feared that her eyes might betray her. But she did
not love him. She wondered what he would say next.

"You might as well wish that dry pastures should not burn when the sun
shines on them, and there is no rain," he answered with a passing
bitterness. "It is at least a satisfaction that my love does not harm
you--that you are willing to have me for your friend--"

"Willing! Your friendship is almost the sweetest thing I know,"
exclaimed the princ