uder every moment--the shrieks of
wounded women with the moaning of wounded men, the clash of swords and
arms, and, occasionally, a quick, loud rattle, as half a dozen arrows
that had missed their mark struck the wall together.

Onward she flew, not pausing to listen, lest in a moment more the tide
of fight should be forced up the stairs and overtake her. She shuddered
as she passed the head of the great staircase and heard, as though but a
few steps from her, a wild shriek that died suddenly into a gurgling
death hiss.

She passed the treasury, whence the guards had fled, and in a moment
more she was above the staircase that led down to the temple behind the
palace. There was no one there as yet, as far as she could see in the
starlight. The doors were shut, and the massive square building frowned
through the gloom, blacker than its own black shadow.

Nehushta paused as she reached the door, and listened. Very faintly
through the thick walls she could hear the sound of the evening chant.
The priests were all within with Zoroaster, unconscious of their danger
and of all that was going on in the palace, singing the hymns of the
sacrifice before the sacred fire,--chanting, as it were, a dirge for
themselves. Nehushta tried the door. The great bronze gates were locked
together, and though she pushed, with her whole strength, they would not
move a hair's breadth.

"Press the nail nearest the middle," said a small voice behind her.
Nehushta started and looked round. It was the little Syrian slave, who
had followed her out of the palace, and stood watching her in the dark.
Nehushta put her hand upon the round head of the nail and pressed, as
the slave told her to do. The door opened, turning slowly and
noiselessly upon its hinges. Both women entered; the Syrian girl looked
cautiously back and pushed the heavy bronze back to its place. The
Egyptian artisan who had made the lock, had told one of the queen's
women whom he loved the secret by which it was opened, and the Syrian
had heard it repeated and remembered it.

Once inside, Nehushta ran quickly through the corridor between the walls
and rushing into the inner temple, found herself behind the screen and
in a moment more she stood before all the priests and before Zoroaster
himself. But even as she entered, the Syrian slave, who had lingered to
close the gates, heard the rushing of many feet outside, and the yelling
of hoarse voices, mixed with the clang of arms.

So