Darius marched quickly up to the pair and stood still, while Zoroaster made his brief salutation.  Phraortes, who between deadly fatigue and deadly fear of his life, had no strength left in him, fell forward upon his knees as the two soldiers relaxed their hold upon his arms.

“Hail, king of kings!  Live for ever!” said Zoroaster.  “I have fulfilled thy bidding.  He is alive.”

Darius laughed grimly as he eyed the prostrate figure of the Median.

“Thou art a faithful servant, Zoroaster,” he answered, “and thou ridest as the furies that pursue the souls of the wicked—­as the devils of the mountains after a liar.  He would not have lasted much farther, this bundle of sweating dust.  Get up, fellow!” he said, touching Phraortes’s head with his toe.  “Thou liest grovelling there like a swine in a ditch.”

The soldiers raised the exhausted man to his feet.  The king turned to Zoroaster.

“Tell me, thou rider of whirlwinds,” he said, laughing, “will a man more readily tell the truth, or speak lies, when he is tired?”

“A man who is tired will do whichever will procure him rest,” returned Zoroaster, with a smile.

“Then I will tell this fellow that the sooner he speaks the truth the sooner he may sleep,” said the king.  Going near to Zoroaster, he added in an undertone:  “Before thou thyself restest, go and tell the queen privately that she send away her slaves, and await me and him thou hast brought in a few minutes.  This fellow must have a little refreshment, or he will die upon the steps.”

Zoroaster turned and went up the broad stairs, and threaded the courts and passages, and mounted to the terrace where he had first met Atossa before the king’s apartments.  There was no one there, and he was about to enter under the great curtain, when the queen herself came out and met him face to face.  Though it was yet very early, she was attired with more than usual care, and the faint colours of her dress and the few ornaments she wore, shone and gleamed brightly in the level beams of the morning sun.  She had guessed that Zoroaster would return that day, and she was prepared for him.

As she came suddenly upon him, she gave a little cry, that might well have been feigned.

“What!  Are you already returned?” she asked, and the joy her voice expressed was genuine.  He looked so godlike as he stood there in the sunlight—­her heart leaped for joy of only seeing him.

“Yes—­I bear this message from the Great King to the queen.  The Great King commands that the queen send away her slaves, and await the king and him I have brought with me, in the space of a few minutes.”

“It is well,” answered Atossa, “There are no slaves here and I await the king.”  She was silent a moment.  “Are you not glad to have come back?” she asked, presently.

“Yes,” said Zoroaster, whose face brightened quickly as he spoke.  “I am indeed glad to be here again.  Would not any one be glad to have finished such a journey?”