“Thou liest!” cried Nehushta vehemently, and her face turned white, as she stamped her foot upon the black marble pavement.  The woman sprang back with a cry of terror, and ran towards the door.  She had never seen her mistress so angry.  But Nehushta called her back.

“Come hither—­what else do they say?” she asked, controlling herself as best she could.

“They say that the wild riders of the eastern desert are descending from the hills,” answered the slave hurriedly and almost under her breath.  “Every one is flying—­everything is in confusion—­I hear them even now, hurrying to and fro in the courts, the soldiers——­”

But, even as she spoke, an echo of distant voices and discordant cries came through the curtains of the door from without, the rapid, uneven tread of people running hither and thither in confusion, the loud voices of startled men and the screams of frightened women—­all blending together in a wild roar that grew every moment louder.

Just then, the little Syrian maid came running in, almost tearing the curtains from their brazen rods as she thrust the hangings aside.  She came and fell breathless at Nehushta’s feet and clasped her knees.

“Fly, fly, beloved mistress,” she cried, “the devils of the mountains are upon us—­they cover the hills—­they are closing every entrance—­the people in the lower palace are all slain——­”

“Where is Zoroaster?” In the moment of supreme danger, Nehushta grew calm, and her senses were restored to her again.

“He is in the temple with the priests—­by this time he is surely slain—­he could know of nothing that is going on—­fly, fly!” cried the poor Syrian girl in an agony of terror.

Nehushta laid her hand kindly upon the head of the little maid, and turning in the pride of her courage, now that she knew the worst, she spoke calmly to the other slaves who thronged in from the outer hall, some breathless with fear, others screaming in an agony of acute dread.

“On which side are they coming?” she asked.

“Prom the hills, from the hills they are descending in thousands,” cried half a dozen of the frightened women at once, the rest huddled together like sheep, moaning in their fear.

“Go you all to the farther window,” cried Nehushta, in commanding tones.  “Leap down upon the balcony—­it is scarce a man’s height—­follow it to the end and past the corner where it joins the main wall of the garden.  Run along upon the wall till you find a place where you can descend.  Through the gardens you can easily reach the road by the northern gate.  Fly and save yourselves in the darkness.  You will reach the fortress before dawn if you hasten.  You will hasten,” she added with something of disdain in her voice, for before she had half uttered her directions, the last of the slave-women, mad with terror, disappeared through the open window, and she could hear them drop, one after the other, in quick succession upon the marble balcony below.  She was alone.