he is surely
slain--he could know of nothing going on--fly, fly!"

"On which side are they coming?"

"From the hills, from the hills they are descending in thousands."

"Go you all to the farther window, leap down upon the balcony--it is
scarce a man's height,--follow it to the end past the corner where it
joins the main wall of the garden. Run along upon the wall till you find
a place where you can descend. Through the gardens you can easily reach
the road. Fly, and save yourselves in the darkness." But before she had
half finished, the last of the slave women, mad with terror,
disappeared.

"Why do you not go with the rest, my little maid?" asked Nehushta.

"I have eaten thy bread, shall I leave thee in the hour of death?"

"Go, child, I have seen thy devotion; thou must not perish."

But the Syrian leaped to her feet as she answered:

"I am a bondwoman, but I am a daughter of Israel, even as thou art.
Though all the others leave thee, I will not. It may be I can help
thee."

"Thou art a brave child; I must go to Zoroaster; stay thou here, hide
thyself among the curtains, escape by the window if any one come to harm
thee." She turned and went rapidly out.

But the maid grasped the knife in her girdle, and stole upon her
mistress's steps. The din rose louder every moment--the shrieks of
wounded women with the moaning of wounded men, the clash of swords and
arms, and a quick, loud rattle, as half a dozen arrows struck the wall
together.

Onward flew Nehushta till she reached the temple door; then she
listened. 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. Nehushta tried the door. The great bronze
gates were locked, 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. Nehushta
started. It was the little Syrian slave. She put her hand upon the round
head of the nail and pressed. The door opened, turning noiselessly upon
its hinges. The seventy priests, in even rank, stood round. Solemnly the
chant rose round the sacred fire upon the black stone altar. Zoroaster
stood before it, his hands lifted in prayer. But Nehushta with a sudden
cry broke their melody.

"Zoroaster--fly--there is yet time! The enemy are come in thousands;
they are in the palace. There is barely time!"

The high priest turned calmly, his face u