ormalities," answered the Hebrew woman,
shortly. "I desire to speak with you alone upon a matter of importance."

"I am alone," returned Atossa, seating herself upon the carved chair,
which one of the slaves had instantly set up again, and motioning to
Nehushta to be seated. But Nehushta glanced at the serving-women and
remained standing.

"You are not alone," she said briefly.

"They are not women--they are slaves," answered Atossa, with a smile.

"Will you not send them away?"

"Why should I?"

"You need not--I will," returned Nehushta. "Begone, and quickly!" she
added, turning to the little group of women and slave-girls who stood
together, looking on in wonder. At Nehushta's imperious command, they
hurried through the door, and the curtains fell behind them. They knew
Nehushta's power in the palace too well to hesitate to obey her, even in
the presence of their own mistress.

"Strange ways you have!" exclaimed Atossa, in a low voice. She was
fiercely angry, but there was no change in her face. She dangled a
little chain upon her finger, and tapped the ground with her foot as she
sat. That was all.

"I am not come here to wrangle with you about your slaves. They will
obey me without wrangling. I met Zoroaster in the gardens an hour
since."

"By a previous arrangement, of course?" suggested Atossa, with a sneer.
But her clear blue eyes fixed themselves upon Nehushta with a strange
and deadly look.

"Hold your peace and listen to me," said Nehushta in a fierce, low
voice, and her slender hand stole to the haft of the knife by her side.

Atossa was a brave woman, false though she was; but she saw that the
Hebrew princess had her in her power--she saw the knife and she saw the
gleam in those black eyes. They were riveted on her face, and she grew
grave and remained silent.

"Tell me the truth," pursued Nehushta hurriedly. "Did Zoroaster love you
three years ago--when I saw you in his arms upon the terrace the morning
when he came back from Ecbatana?"

But she little knew the woman with whom she had to deal. Atossa had
found time in that brief moment to calculate her chances of safety. A
weaker woman would have lied; but the fair queen saw that the moment had
come wherein she could reap a rich harvest of vengeance upon her rival,
and she trusted to her coolness and strength to deliver her if Nehushta
actually drew the knife she wore.

"I loved him," she said slowly. "I love him yet, and I hate you more