than I love him. Do you understand?"

"Speak--go on!" cried Nehushta, half breathless with anger.

"I loved him, and I hated you. I hate you still," repeated the queen
slowly and gravely. "The letter I had from him was written to you--but
it was brought to me. Nay--be not so angry, it was very long ago. Of
course you can murder me, if you please--you have me in your power, and
you are but a cowardly Jew, like twenty of my slave-women. I fear you
not. Perhaps you would like to hear the end?"

Nehushta had come nearer and stood looking down at the beautiful woman,
her arms folded before her. Atossa never stirred as Nehushta approached,
but kept her eye steadily fixed on hers. Nehushta's arms were folded,
and the knife hung below her girdle in its loose sheath.

Atossa's white arm went suddenly out and laid hold of the haft, and the
keen blue steel flashed out of its scabbard with a sheen like dark
lightning on a summer's evening.

Nehushta started back as she saw the sharp weapon in her enemy's hand.
But Atossa laughed a low sweet laugh of triumph.

"You shall hear the end now," she said, holding the knife firmly in her
hand. "You shall not escape hearing the end now, and you shall not
murder me with your Indian poisoner here." She laughed again as she
glanced at the ugly curve of the dagger. "I was talking with Zoroaster,"
she continued, "when I saw you upon the stairs, and then--oh, it was so
sweet! I cried out that he should never leave me again, and I threw my
arms about his neck--his lordly neck that you so loved!--and I fell, so
that he had to hold me up. And you saw him. Oh, it was sweet! It was the
sweetest moment of my life when I heard you groan and hurry away and
leave us! It was to hurt you that I did it--that I humbled my
queenliness before him; but I loved him, though--and he, he your lover,
whom you despised then and cast away for this black-faced king of
ours--he thrust me from him, and pushed me off, and drove me weeping to
my chamber, and he said he loved me not, nor wished my love. Ay, that
was bitter, for I was ashamed--I who never was shamed of man or woman.
But there was more sweetness in your torment than bitterness in my
shame. He never knew you were there. He screamed out to you from the
crowd in the procession his parting curse on your unfaithfulness and
went out--but he nearly killed those two strong spearmen who tried to
seize him. How strong he was then, how brave! What a noble lover for