At first she could not speak, but she put forth her delicate hand and laid it tenderly on the king’s thick black hair, as gently as a mother might soothe a passionate child; and he suffered it to rest there.  And presently she raised his head and laid it in her lap, and smoothed his forehead with her soft fingers, and spoke to him.

“You make me very sad,” she almost whispered.  “I would that you might be loved as you deserve love—­that one more worthy than I might give you all I cannot give.”

He opened his dark eyes that were now dull and weary, and he looked up to her face.

“There is none more worthy than you,” he answered in low and broken tones.

“Hush,” she said gently, “there are many.  Will you forgive me—­and forget me?  Will you blot out this hour from your remembrance, and go forth and do those great and noble deeds which you came into the world to perform?  There is none greater than you, none nobler, none more generous.”

Darius lifted his head from her knee, and sprang to his feet.

“I will do all things, but I will not forget,” he said.  “I will do the great and the good deeds,—­for you.  I will be generous, for you; noble, for you; while the world lasts my deeds shall endure; and with them, the memory that they were done for you!  Grant me only one little thing.”

“Ask anything—­everything,” answered Nehushta, in troubled tones.

“Nehushta, you know how truly I love you—­nay, I will not be mad again; fear not!  Tell me this—­tell me that if you had not loved Zoroaster, you would have loved me.”

Nehushta blushed deeply and then turned pale.  She rose to her feet, and took the king’s outstretched hands.

“Indeed, indeed, you are most worthy of love—­Darius, I could have loved you well.”  Her voice was very low, and the tears stood in her eyes.

“The grace of the All-Wise God bless thee!” cried the king, and it was as though a sudden bright light shone upon his face.  Then he kissed her two hands fervently, and with one long look into her sorrowful eyes, he turned and left her.

But no man saw the king that day, nor did any know where he was, saving the two spearmen who stood at the door of his chamber.  Within, he lay upon his couch, dry-eyed and stark, staring at the painted carvings of the ceiling.

CHAPTER XI.

The time passed, and it was eleven days since Zoroaster had set out.  The king and Nehushta had continued to meet in the garden as before, and neither had ever referred to the day when the torrent of his heart had been suddenly let loose.  The hours sped quietly and swiftly, without any event of importance.  Only the strange bond, half friendship and half love, had grown stronger than before; and Nehushta wondered how it was that she could love two men so well, and yet so differently.  Indeed they were very different men.  She loved Zoroaster, and yet it sometimes