CHAPTER XVII.

On the next day, in the cool of the evening, Nehushta walked again in the garden.  But Zoroaster was not there.  And for several days Nehushta came at that hour, and at other hours in the day, but found him not.  She saw him indeed from time to time in public, but she had no opportunity of speaking with him as she desired.  At last, she determined to send for him, and to see whether he would come, or not.

She went out, attended only by two slaves; the one bearing a fan and the other a small carpet and a cushion—­black women from the southern parts of Syria, towards Egypt, who would not understand the high Persian she would be likely to speak with Zoroaster, though her own Hebrew tongue was intelligible to them.  When she reached a quiet spot, where one of the walks ended suddenly in a little circle among the rose-trees, far down from the palace, she had her carpet spread, and her cushion was placed upon it, and she wearily sat down.  The fan-girl began to ply her palm-leaf, as much to cool the heated summer air as to drive away the swarms of tiny gnats which abounded in the garden.  Nehushta rested upon one elbow, her feet drawn together upon the carpet of dark soft colours and waited a few minutes as though in thought.  At last she seemed to have decided, and turned to the slave who had brought her cushion, as she stood at a little distance, motionless, her hands folded and hidden under the thickness of the broad sash that girded her tunic at the waist.

“Go thou,” said the queen, “and seek out the high priest Zoroaster, and bring him hither quickly.”

The black woman turned and ran like a deer down the narrow path, disappearing in a moment amongst the shrubbery.

The breeze of the swinging fan blew softly on Nehushta’s pale face and stirred the locks of heavy hair that fell from her tiara about her shoulders.  Her eyes were half closed as she leaned back, and her lips were parted in a weary look of weakness that was new to her.  Nearly an hour passed and the sun sank low, but Nehushta hardly stirred from her position.

It seemed very long before she heard steps upon the walk—­the quick soft step of the slave-woman running before, barefooted and fleet, and presently the heavier tread of a man’s leather shoe.  The slave stopped at the entrance to the little circle of rose-trees, and a moment later, Zoroaster strode forward, and stood still and made a deep obeisance, a few steps from Nehushta.

“Forgive me that I sent for thee, Zoroaster,” said the queen in quiet tones.  But, as she spoke, a slight blush overspread her face, and relieved her deadly pallor.  “Forgive me—­I have somewhat to say which thou must hear.”

Zoroaster remained standing before her as she spoke, and his luminous eyes rested upon her quietly.

“I wronged thee three years ago, Zoroaster,” said the queen in a low voice, but looking up at him.  “I pray thee, forgive me—­I knew not what I did.”