he said, as though he had regained the mastery over himself. "It
is too much to ask--that I might kiss you! It is too much--too
much--that you give me. I am not worthy that you should be my wife.
Nay!" he cried, as she would not let him rise from his seat. "Nay, let
me go, it is not right--it is not worthy--I must not see you any more.
Oh, you have tempted me till I am too weak--"

"Darius, you are the noblest of men, the best and bravest." Then with a
sudden impulse it seemed to Nehushta that she really loved him. The
majestic strength of Zoroaster seemed cold and meaningless beside the
fervour of the brave young king, striving so hard to do right under the
sorest temptation, striving to leave her free, even against her will.
For the moment she loved him, as such women do, with a passionate
impulse. She put her arms about him and drew him down to her.

"Darius, it is truth--I never loved you, but I love you now, for, of all
living men, you have the bravest heart." She pressed a kiss hotly upon
his forehead and her head sank upon his shoulder. For one moment the
king trembled, and then, as though all resistance were gone from him,
his arms went round her, locking with hers that held him, and he kissed
her passionately.

When Zoroaster awoke from his long sleep it was night. He had dreamed
evil dreams, and he woke with a sense of some great disaster impending.
He heard unwonted sounds in the hall outside his chamber, and he sprang
to his feet and called one of the soldiers of his guard.

"What is happening?" asked Zoroaster quickly.

"The Great King, who lives for ever, has taken a new wife to-day,"
answered the soldier, standing erect, but eyeing Zoroaster somewhat
curiously. Zoroaster's heart sank within him.

"What? Who is she?" he asked, coming nearer to the man.

"The new queen is Nehushta--the Hebrew princess," answered the spearman.
"There is a great banquet, and a feast for the guard, and much food and
wine for the slaves--"

"It is well," answered Zoroaster. "Go thou, and feast with the rest."

The man saluted, and left the room. Zoroaster remained standing alone,
his teeth chattering together and his strong limbs shaking beneath him.
But he abandoned himself to no frenzy of grief, nor weeping; one seeing
him would have said he was sick of a fever. His blue eyes stared hard at
the lamp-light and his face was white, but he did not so much as utter
an exclamation, nor give one groan. He went and sat down