“No peril,” he protested, drawing her back to the soft cool carpet. “Boges is on watch below; the eunuchs proved exceeding corruptible. Naught will be suspected.” “So Ahura grant,” she murmured, pressing closer, “yet I hear that spies are all about you. You are in danger, grievous danger. Would that you were back in Susa, were anywhere, save here,—in the chiefest place of peril.” Darius laughed softly. “Are you so glad to have me vanish? I declare to you by all the host of the holy ‘Yazatas,’ the just spirits who ever wait on God, that where you are, were it in the foulest prison, or parching desert, or in remotest star, there would be my _Garo-nmana_, my ‘Abode of Song’!” “Folly!” she replied, but her laugh was sweet as the dying winds. “What am I?—a voice and a blooming flower; to-day I am joy to you, or to another, because my face is fair to see. To-morrow all is past; faded like every blossom, I lie down and die, and the world knows of me no more. But you,” and there was pride in the light of her smile, “there will be other tales to tell of Darius, son of Hystaspes, long after the day when your tongue is cold and still. And that should be your task, doing fair deeds in the sight of men, not wasting griefs or tears on such as me.” But his answer was a hand upon her lips, and he answered her: “I will not give wisdom for your foolishness, the barter is unfair. But this I know, concerning the Great Day when every soul must cross the Chinvat Bridge to enter into the world hereafter (for you have heard our Aryan tale as chanted by the Magi), then to every man there shall come a maiden, in beauty or foulness after his own righteousness or guile. And she shall say to him, ‘See, I am thine own conscience, come to meet thee, and to dwell with thee through unending time.’ And my prayer to Ahura the Merciful is but this, that when my own dread ordeal comes, and my maiden looks me in the face, her eyes and her smile may be that of Atossa, the daughter of my king.” “Folly!” cried she again, and again her laugh was sweet. But then her mood grew grave. “It is night,” she said, “the stars are circling onward; soon they will wonder why I linger here so late, and some will come to see if all is well. Alas! that we have tasted of this bliss; the morsel truly is most sweet, but it is supped and gone. Am I not Belshazzar’s betrothed, full soon his bride? And you, what is left save but to speed back to Susa, and tell my father all, and how he robbed me of my joy and all for naught?” But Darius’s voice grew low, he tightened the grasp upon her hand. “You speak but ill. You shall never be Belshazzar’s bride. I, son of Hystaspes, have so sworn, though all the Chaldees rise to say me ‘nay’!” “Never?” He felt Atossa thrill. “What is this you say?”