ck inertly upon the motionless
breast.

He turned away with a thought of pity, consigning the body to that
strange burial which the Magians deemed most fitting--the funeral of
the desert, from which the kites and vultures rise on dark wings, and
the beasts of prey slink furtively away, leaving only a heap of white
bones in the sand.

But, as he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh came from the man's
lips. The brown, bony fingers closed convulsively on the hem of the
Magian's robe and held him fast.

Artaban's heart leaped to his throat, not with fear, but with a dumb
resentment at the importunity of this blind delay.

How could he stay here in the darkness to minister to a dying stranger?
What claim had this unknown fragment of human life upon his compassion
or his service? If he lingered but for an hour he could hardly reach
Borsippa at the appointed time. His companions would think he had given
up the journey. They would go without him. He would lose his quest.

But if he went on now, the man would surely die. If he stayed, life
might be restored. His spirit throbbed and fluttered with the urgency
of the crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his divine faith for
the sake of a single deed of human love? Should he turn aside, if only
for a moment, from the following of the star, to give a cup of cold
water to a poor, perishing Hebrew?

"God of truth and purity," he prayed, "direct me in the holy path, the
way of wisdom which Thou only knowest."

Then he turned back to the sick man. Loosening the grasp of his hand,
he carried him to a little mound at the foot of the palm-tree.

He unbound the thick folds of the turban and opened the garment above
the sunken breast. He brought water from one of the small canals near
by, and moistened the sufferer's brow and mouth. He mingled a draught
of one of those simple but potent remedies which he carried always in
his girdle--for the Magians were physicians as well as astrologers--and
poured it slowly between the colorless lips. Hour after hour he labored
as only a skilful healer of disease can do; and, at last, the man's
strength returned; he sat up and looked about him.

"Who art thou?" he said, in the rude dialect of the country, "and why
hast thou sought me here to bring back my life?"

"I am Artaban the Magian, of the city of Ecbatana, and I am going to
Jerusalem in search of one who is to be born King of the Jews, a great
Prince and Deliverer of all men. I dar