for you have done this, and the powers of evil shall have your soul,
which is of them, and of none other."

Atossa, for the first time in her whole life, turned pale to the lips
and trembled, for she already seemed to taste death in the air. But even
then, her boldness did not desert her, and she rose to her feet with a
stateliness and a calmness that almost awed the king's anger to silence.

"Slay me if thou wilt," she said in a low voice, but firmly. "I am
innocent of this deed." The great lie fell from her lips with a calmness
that a martyr might have envied. But Zoroaster stepped between her and
the king. As he passed her, his clear, calm eyes met hers for a moment.
He read in her face the fear of death, and he pitied her.

"Let the king hear me," he said. "It is not Phraortes who has headed the
revolt, and it is told me that Phraortes has fled from Ecbatana. Let the
king send forth his armies and subdue the rebels, and let this woman go;
for the fear of death is upon her and it may be that she has not sinned
in this matter. And if she have indeed sinned, will the king make war
upon women, or redden his hands with the blood of his own wife?"

"You speak as a priest--I feel as a man," returned the king, savagely.
"This woman has deserved death many times--let her die. So shall we be
free of her."

"It is not lawful to do this thing," returned Zoroaster coldly, and his
glance rested upon the angry face of Darius, as he spoke, and seemed to
subdue his furious wrath. "The king cannot know whether she have
deserved death or not, until he have the rebels of Ecbatana before him.
Moreover, the blood of a woman is a perpetual shame to the man who has
shed it."

The king seemed to waver, and Atossa, who watched him keenly, understood
that the moment had come in which she might herself make an appeal to
him. In the suddenness of the situation she had time to ask herself why
Zoroaster, whom she had so bitterly injured, should intercede for her.
She could not understand his nobility of soul, and she feared some trap,
into which she should fall by and by. But, meanwhile, she chose to
appeal to the king's mercy herself, lest she should feel that she owed
her preservation wholly to Zoroaster. It was a bold thought, worthy of a
woman of her strength, in a moment of supreme danger.

With a quick movement she tore the tiara from her head and let it fall
upon the floor. The mass of her silken hair fell all about her like a
vest