But as the queen read, her heart rose up in wrath against the Persian prince and against the woman he loved.  When she had talked with him that morning, she had felt her old yearning affection rising again in her breast.  She had wondered at herself, being accustomed to think that she was beyond all feeling for man, and the impression she had received from her half-hour’s talk with him was so strong, that she had foolishly delayed sending her letter to Phraortes, in order to see the woman Zoroaster admired, and had, in her absence of mind, forgotten the scroll upon the seat in the corridor, and had brought herself into such desperate danger through the discovery of the missive, that she hardly yet felt safe.  The king had dismissed her peremptorily from his presence while he waited for Nehushta, and she had not seen him during the rest of the day.  As for Zoroaster, she had soon heard from her women that he had taken the road towards Nineveh before noon, alone and almost unarmed, mounted upon one of the fleetest horses in Persia.  She had not a doubt that Darius had despatched him at once to Ecbatana to meet Phraortes, or at least to inquire into the state of affairs in the city.  She knew that no one could outride Zoroaster, and that there was nothing to be done but to await the issue.  It was not possible to send a word of warning to her agent—­he must inevitably take his chance, and if his conduct attracted suspicion, he would, in all probability, be at once put to death.  She believed that, even in that event, she could easily clear herself; but she resolved, if possible, to warn him as soon as he reached Shushan, or even to induce the king to be absent from the palace for a few days at the time when Phraortes might be expected.  There was plenty of time—­at least eleven days.

Meanwhile, a desperate struggle was beginning within her, and the letter her woman had brought her hastened the conclusion to which her thoughts were rapidly tending.

She felt keenly the fact that Zoroaster, who had been so cold to her advances in former days, had preferred before her a Hebrew woman, and was now actually so deeply in love with Nehushta, that he could not leave the palace for a few days without writing her a word of love—­he, who had never loved any one!  She fiercely hated this dark woman, who was preferred before her by the man she secretly loved, and whom the king had brutally declared to be the most beautiful woman in the world.  She longed for her destruction as she had never longed for anything in her life.  Her whole soul rose in bitter resentment; not only did Zoroaster love this black-eyed, dark-browed child of captivity, but the king, who had always maintained that Atossa was unequalled in the world, even when he coldly informed her that he would never trust her, now dared to say before Zoroaster, almost before Nehushta herself, that the princess was the more beautiful of the two.  The one man wounded her in her vanity, the other in her heart.