“Oh!” she cried impulsively, “am I not for the instant free? Can I not trust you in all things? Why may I not flee with you to the city of my father, and see this wicked Babylon no more?” The young Jew smiled. “Spoken like a king’s own child, in very truth! But such things cannot be. You cannot go where I may go, or endure what is as naught to me; that were not trusting, but rather tempting, God.” “But you will tell all to Cyrus,—of myself, of Darius, of Belshazzar and his guile. You swear that you will conceal nothing, that my father may dash from power this evil king of the Chaldees.” There was a strange light on Isaiah’s face when he answered: “Fear not, lady, Cyrus shall hear. And think not that the one God will forget the wickedness of these servants of stone and brass; for I say to you, He shall turn all their guile against themselves, and shall humble them utterly.” “Alas! brave Jew,” Atossa cried, at parting, “would to Ahura your faith were mine. My own faith in Him grows weak, but my faith in you, who can dare so much, is very strong.” “Put no trust in me,” Isaiah replied, kissing her mantle; “but trust much in the Spirit that moves in me, and in every soul whose love is light and truth.” * * * * * How Belshazzar made good the tower of Bel-Marduk that day against half of Babylon, how soldiers came at last from the garrison cantonments to the aid of the hard-pressed royal guard, how the king slew his tens and surpassed all his captains in valour—of this there is no place to tell. Save for Belshazzar himself, the priests of Nabu and the rioters would have stormed the _ziggurat_ to its topmost stage, and flung monarch and chief pontiff upon the pavement below. But Nergal, or some other divinity of the bold, watched over the king, and saved him from mortal wound. The malcontents gained the second stage of the tower after a bitter struggle, so that the steps of the _ziggurat_ flowed with blood. But here their progress was stopped. Companies of soldiers, arriving outside the temple enclosure, threatened to cut off the retreat of those rioters who had entered, and the troops within turned at bay, and held their own at last. Then, finally, the tide seemed to have turned. The valour commenced to ooze out of the undisciplined priests and burghers. Only one thing prevented Belshazzar from making good all his threats, and causing the brethren of Nabu to curse the day they had lifted their heads against his power and the supremacy of Bel-Marduk. Sirusur, the general, was still captive in the malcontents’ hands. Let them be pressed too hard, and his life was not worth a shekel. The king raged at his captains, but they were obdurate.