cessful.

During the months while she was planning these things, she was very calm
and placid; her eyes met Zoroaster's with a frank and friendly glance
that would have disarmed one less completely convinced of her badness;
and her smile never failed the king when he looked for it. She bore his
jests with unfailing equanimity and gentleness, for she felt that she
should not have to bear them long. Even to Nehushta she gave an
occasional glance as though of hurt sympathy--a look that seemed to say
to the world that she regretted the Hebrew queen's sullen temper and
moody ways, so different from her own, but regarded them all the while
as the outward manifestation of some sickness, for which she was to be
pitied rather than blamed.

But, as the time sped, her heart grew more and more glad, for the end
was at hand, and there was a smell of death in the air of the sweet
rose-valley.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Once more the spring months had come, and the fields grew green and the
trees put forth their leaves. Four years had passed since Daniel had
died in Ecbatana, leaving his legacy of wisdom to Zoroaster; and almost
a year had gone by since Zoroaster had returned to the court at
Stakhar. The time had sped very swiftly, except for Nehushta, whose life
was heavy with a great weariness and her eyes hollow with suffering
sleeplessness. She was not always the same, saving that she was always
unhappy. There were days when she was resigned to her lot and merely
hoped that it would soon be over; and she wondered how it was that she
did not slip out of the gardens at evening, and go and sink her care and
her great sorrow in the cool waves of the Araxes, far down below. But
then the thought came over her that she must see his face once more; and
it was always once more, so that the last time never came. And again,
there were days when she hoped all things, madly, indiscriminately,
without sequence--the king might die, Zoroaster might again love her,
all might be well. But the mood of a hope that is senseless is very
fleet, and despair follows close in its footsteps. Nehushta grew each
time more sad, as she grew more certain that for her there was no hope.

At least it seemed as though Atossa had given up loving Zoroaster and
thought no more of him than of another. Indeed Atossa seemed more
anxious to please the king than formerly, in proportion as Darius seemed
less easily pleased by her. But over all, Zoroaster's supremacy was