ush overspread her face, and
relieved her deadly pallor. "Forgive me--I have somewhat to say which
thou must hear."

Zoroaster remained standing before her as she spoke, and his luminous
eyes rested upon her quietly.

"I wronged thee three years ago, Zoroaster," said the queen in a low
voice, but looking up at him. "I pray thee, forgive me--I knew not what
I did."

"I forgave thee long ago," answered the high priest.

"I did thee a bitter wrong--but the wrong I did myself was even greater.
I never knew till I went and asked--her!" At the thought of Atossa, the
Hebrew woman's eyes flashed fire, and her small fingers clenched upon
her palm. But, in an instant, her sad, weary look returned.

"That is all--if you forgive me," she said, and turned her head away. It
seemed to her that there was nothing more to be said. He did not love
her--he was far beyond love.

"Now, by Ahura Mazda, I have indeed forgiven thee. The blessing of the
All-Wise be upon thee!" Zoroaster bent again, as though to take his
leave, and he would have gone from her.

But when she heard his first footsteps, Nehushta raised herself a little
and turned quickly towards him. It seemed as though the only light she
knew were departing from her day.

"You loved me once," she said, and stopped, with an appealing look on
her pale face. It was very, weak of her; but oh! she was far spent with
sorrow and grief. Zoroaster paused, and looked back upon her, very
calmly, very gently.

"Ay--I loved you once--but not now. There is no more love in the earth
for me. But I bless you for the love you gave me."

"I loved you so well," said Nehushta. "I love you still," she added,
suddenly raising herself and gazing on him with a wild look in her eyes.
"Oh, I love you still!" she cried passionately. "I thought I had put you
away--forgotten you--trodden out your memory that I so hated I could not
bear to hear your name! Ah! why did I do it, miserable woman that I am!
I love you now--I love you--I love you with my whole heart--and it is
too late!" She fell back upon her cushion, and covered her face with
her hands, and her breast heaved with passionate, tearless sobbing.

Zoroaster stood still, and a deep melancholy came over his beautiful,
ethereal face. No regret stirred his breast, no touch of the love that
had been waked his heart that slept for ever in the peace of the higher
life. He would not have changed from himself to the young lover of three
years ago,