It would be hard for her to see Nehushta married to the king, and occupying the position of chief favourite even for a time.  But the triumph would be the sweeter when Nehushta was finally overthrown, and meanwhile there would be much daily delight in tormenting the princess’s jealousy.  Chance, or rather the cunning of her Greek tirewoman, had thrown a weapon in her way which could easily be turned into an instrument of torture, and as she sat before her mirror, she twisted and untwisted the little bit of parchment, and smiled to herself, a sweet bright smile—­and leaned her head back to the pleasant breeze of the fan.

CHAPTER IX.

The noonday air was hot and dry in the garden of the palace, but in the graceful marble pavilion there was coolness and the sound of gently plashing water.  Rose-trees and climbing plants screened the sunlight from the long windows, and gave a soft green tinge to the eight-sided hall, where a fountain played in the midst, its little jet falling into a basin hollowed in the floor.  On the rippling surface a few water-lilies swayed gently with the constant motion, anchored by their long stems to the bottom.  All was cool and quiet and restful, and Nehushta stood looking at the fountain.

She was alone and very unhappy.  Zoroaster had left the palace without a word to her, and she knew only by the vague reports her slaves brought her, that he was gone for many days.  Her heart sank at the thought of all that might happen before he returned, and the tears stood in her eyes.

“Are you here alone, dear princess?” said a soft, clear voice behind her.  Nehushta started, as though something had stung her, as she recognised Atossa’s tones.  There was nothing of her assumed cordiality of the previous day as she answered.  She was too unhappy, too weary of the thought that her lover was gone, to be able to act a part, or pretend a friendliness she did not feel.

“Yes—­I am alone,” she said quietly.

“So am I,” answered Atossa, her blue eyes sparkling with the sunshine she brought in with her, and all her wonderful beauty beaming, as it were, with an overflowing happiness.  “The ladies of the court are gone in state to the city, in the Great King’s train, and you and I are alone in the palace.  How deliciously cool it is in here.”

She sat down upon a heap of cushions by one of the screened windows and contemplated Nehushta, who still stood by the fountain.

“You look sad—­and tired, dearest Nehushta,” said she presently.  “Indeed you must not be sad here—­nobody is sad here!”

“I am sad,” repeated Nehushta, in a dreary, monotonous way, as though scarcely conscious of what she was saying.  There was a moment’s silence before Atossa spoke again.

“Tell me what it is,” she said at last, in persuasive accents.  “Tell me what is the matter.  It may be that you lack something—­that you miss something you were used to in Ecbatana.  Will you not tell me, dearest?”