e lamps, and the unceasing, indescribable din
of the hoarsely howling voices seemed to make the very roof rock upon
the pillars that held it up, as though the stones themselves must go mad
and shriek in the universal fury of sound. The golden goblets rolled
upon the marble pavement, and the sweet green juice ran in slimy streams
upon the floor. The high priest himself, utterly intoxicated and
screaming with a voice like a wild beast in agony, fell backwards across
the marble vase at the foot of the mortar and his hand and arm plashed
into the dregs of the fermented Haoma.

Never had the drunken frenzy reached such a point before. The king had
sat motionless and frowning upon his seat until he saw the high priest
fall headlong into the receptacle of the sacred Haoma. Then, with a
groan, he laid his two hands upon the arms of his carved chair, and
rose to his feet in utter disgust and horror. But, as he turned to go,
he stood still and shook from head to foot, for he saw beside him a
figure that might, at such a moment, have startled the boldest.

A tall man of unearthly looks stood there, whose features he seemed to
know, but could not recognise. His face was thin to emaciation, and his
long, white hair fell in tangled masses, with his huge beard, upon his
half-naked shoulders and bare chest. The torn, dark mantle he wore was
falling to the ground as he faced the drunken herd of howling priests
and lifted up his thin blanched arms and bony fingers, as though in
protest at the hideous sight. His deep-set eyes were blue and fiery,
flashing with a strange light. He seemed not to see Darius, but he gazed
in deepest horror upon the writhing mass of bestial humanity below.

Suddenly his arms shook, and standing there, against the dark marble
screen, like the very figure and incarnation of fate, he spoke in a
voice that, without effort, seemed to dominate the hideous din of
yelling voices--a voice that was calm and clear as a crystal bell, but
having that in it which carried instantly the words he spoke to the ears
of the very most besotted wretch that lay among the heaps upon the
floor--a voice that struck like a sharp steel blade upon iron.

"I am the prophet of the Lord. Hold ye your peace."

As a wild beast's howling suddenly diminishes and grows less and dies
away to silence, when the hunter's arrow has sped close to the heart
with a mortal wound, so in one moment, the incoherent din sank down, and
the dead stillness t