Darius, quick and impulsive in every thought and action, sprang to the ground as Zoroaster finished speaking, and coming to him, took both his hands and kissed him on both cheeks.

“What thou hast done is well done,—­I know thee of old.  Auramazda is with thee.  He is also with me.  By his grace I have slain the rebels at Babylon.  They spoke lies, so I slew them.  Show me Nehushta, the daughter of the kings of Judah.”

“I am thy servant.  The princess is at hand,” answered Zoroaster; but as he spoke, he turned pale to the lips.

By this time it had grown dark, and the moon, just past the full, had not yet risen from behind the mound of the fortress.  The slaves brought torches of mingled wax and fir-gum, and their black figures shone strangely in the red glare, as they pressed toward the door of Nehushta’s tent, lighting the way for the king.

Darius strode quickly forward, his gilded harness clanging as he walked, the strong flaring light illuminating his bold dark features.  Under the striped curtain, drawn up to form the entrance of the tent, stood Nehushta.  She had thrown aside her veil and her women had quickly placed upon her head the linen tiara, where a single jewel shown like a star in the white folds.  Her thick black hair fell in masses upon her shoulders, and her mantle was thrown back, displaying the grand proportions of her figure, clad in tunic and close-fitting belt.  As the king came near, she kneeled and prostrated herself before him, touching her forehead to the ground, and waiting for him to speak.

He stood still a full minute and his eyes flashed fire, as he looked on her crouching figure, in very pride that so queenly a woman should be forced to kneel at his feet—­but more in sudden admiration of her marvellous beauty.  Then he bent down, and took her hand and raised her to her feet.  She sprang up, and faced him with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes; and as she stood she was nearly as tall as he.

“I would not that a princess of thy line kneeled before me,” said he; and in his voice there was a strange touch of softness.  “Wilt thou let me rest here awhile before I go up to Shushan?  I am weary of riding and thirsty from the road.”

“Hail, king of the world!  I am thy servant.  Rest thee and refresh thee here,” answered Nehushta, drawing back into the tent.  The king beckoned to Zoroaster to follow him and went in.

Darius sat upon the carved folding-chair that stood in the midst of the tent by the main pole, and eagerly drained the huge golden goblet of Shiraz wine which Zoroaster poured for him.  Then he took off his headpiece, and his thick, coarse hair fell in a mass of dark curls to his neck, like the mane of a black lion.  He breathed a long breath as of relief and enjoyment of well-earned repose, and leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes rest on Nehushta’s face as she stood before him looking down to the ground.  Zoroaster remained on one side, holding the replenished goblet in his hand, in case the king’s thirst were not assuaged by a single draught.