So throughout the black tents. And in that village of pavilions, of guardsmen and grooms and chamberlains, where the king found lodging, there was no common gloom that night. For Cyrus sat alone in the innermost tent, and refused all drink and food. This was the fortieth night, on which Isaiah had promised to return with Darius, and naught had been seen or heard of the Jew since he had quitted Susa. Atrobanes, “the bearer of the royal handkerchief,” and the attendant with whom Cyrus was most familiar, had ventured once to enter the tent, and light the tall silver candelabra. There was the master on the high ivory throne, looking straight before him upon the rugs, combing his flowing beard with his right hand, while his left gripped hard on the jewelled hilt at his side. “Lord,” Atrobanes had ventured, kneeling, “the feast in the banqueting tent is ready. The Princes Harpagus and Gobryas and the other captains have come, for you deigned to command that they should eat meat with you this evening.” No answer. Cyrus was still looking straight before. “Live forever, O king,” began Atrobanes again. An angry exclamation cut him short. For Cyrus to be in wrath was so unwonted that the attendant trembled. “Live forever? Are you mad? Is life so utterly sweet, that one may never long to lay it down?” “Mercy, lord of all goodness; mercy!” protested the shivering servant. “By Mithra, you are frightened.” Cyrus laughed softly; it seemed more in melancholy than in mirth. “I meant nothing; I scarce knew that you were here. What is your wish?” “Will the king condescend to be present at the feast appointed for to-night to the captains of the army?” A weary sigh, and more silence. Then Cyrus replied, almost bitterly, “Would to Ahura I had not ordered it! How can I sit over wine this night? Yet I must not dishonour the princes. Go to the high steward and say that I can touch no food, though I thank him for his pains. Yet say that when the evening advances, and the wine is brought, I will come and sit with the captains.” “And the king requires nothing for himself?” “Only this—that you leave me.” Atrobanes kissed the cushioned footstool at his master’s feet, and vanished behind the heavy draperies. There was profound stillness, save for the vague hum of the busy camp and the clatter of plate and dishes many hands were bearing to the banqueting tent. The king sat for a long time motionless, the grip on the sword-hilt ever tightening. Then, letting the weapon rest, he fumbled in his bosom, drew forth a locket, and gazed on it as on treasure untold. “The locket of Atossa. It has been close against her own pure breast.” He pressed it to his lips, once, twice, thrust it back in his mantle, slipped from the high seat, and began treading to and fro, his feet noiseless on the carpets.