“‘And jealousy is as cruel as the grave,’ he says, too,” added Nehushta, her eyes flashing fire as her lips met his.  “You must never make me jealous, Zoroaster, never, never!  I would be so cruel—­you cannot dream how cruel I would be!”

Zoroaster laughed under his silken beard, a deep, joyous, ringing laugh that startled the moonlit stillness.

“By Nabon and Bel, there is small cause for your jealousy here,” he said.

“Swear not by your false gods!” laughed Nehushta.  “You know not how little it would need to rouse me.”

“I will not give you that little,” answered the Persian.  “And as for the false gods, they are well enough for a man to swear by in these days.  But I will swear by any one you command me, or by anything!”

“Swear not, or you will say again that the oath has need of sealing,” replied Nehushta, drawing her mantle around her, so as to cover half her face.  “Tell me, when are we to begin our journey?  We have talked much and have said little, as it ever is.  Shall we go at once, or are we to wait for another order?  Is Darius safe upon the throne?  Who is to be chiefest at the court—­one of the seven princes, I suppose, or his old father?  Come, do you know anything of all these changes?  Why have you never told me what was going to happen—­you who are high in power and know everything?”

“Your questions flock upon me like doves to a maiden who feeds them from her hand,” said Zoroaster, with a smile, “and I know not which shall be fed first.  As for the king, I know that he will be great, and will hold securely the throne, for he has already the love of the people from the Western sea to the wild Eastern mountains.  But it seemed as though the seven princes would have divided the empire amongst them, until this news came.  I think he will more likely take one of your people for his close friend than trust to the princes.  As for our journey, we must depart betimes, or the king will have gone before us from Shushan to Stakhar in the south, where they say he will build himself a royal dwelling and stay in the coming winter time.  Prepare yourself for the journey, therefore, my princess, lest anything be forgotten and you should be deprived of what you need for any time.”

“I am never deprived of what I need,” said Nehushta, half in pride and half in jest.

“Nor I, when I am with my beloved!” answered the Persian.  “And now the moon is high, and I must bear this news to our master, the prophet.”

“So soon?” said Nehushta reproachfully, and she turned her head away.

“I would there were no partings, my beloved, even for the space of an hour,” answered Zoroaster, tenderly drawing her to him; but she resisted a little and would not look at him.

“Farewell now—­good-night, my princess—­light of my soul;” he kissed her dark cheek passionately.  “Good-night!”

He trod swiftly across the terrace.

“Zoroaster! prince!” Nehushta called aloud, but without turning.  He came back.  She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him almost desperately.  Then she pushed him gently away from her.