The shout died away in profound silence. The king grasped a goblet once more. “By Nabu, the jest is so well played, you still wander for wits. Daniel must have reward. Ho! Mermaza; the robe of honour and the chain of gold. Off with these rags and fetters. Behold in Daniel the third prince of the kingdom. Set a new seat on the dais. A health to his Highness!” He drained the cup, then in a darker tone, directly at the Hebrew: “This is the promised reward. But when at midnight I quit the feast, if your prophecy is not fulfilled, you die the perjurer’s death, for mocking thus your king.” Daniel answered nothing. The eunuchs pried off his fetters, put on him the robe and the golden chain. They set him in a chair beside Belshazzar, offering a jewelled goblet. He took it, tasting only once. Avil had risen, in vain effort to fuse the company with the same mad merriment affected by himself and the king. “I congratulate Prince Daniel, my colleague in government! Another health to him, and to our ‘ever-to-be-adored’ Queen Atossa. Strike up, harpers; raise the triumph hymn to Bel once more.” With reluctant fingers the musicians smote harp and zither, the choir of priests and maidens lifted quavering voices,—sang a few measures,—the weak notes died away into ghastly stillness. Every eye crept furtively up to the square of shattered plaster. Then, as if in desperation, and bound to hide his mastering fears, a “captain of a hundred” motioned to a eunuch. “Wine, fellow, wine, heady enough to chase these black imps away! Let us drink ourselves to sleep, and forget the portent by the morning.” “Wine!” echoed all, “more wine! Surely the Jew has lied. Forget him!” The revels were resumed. The torches flared above the king of the Chaldees and all his lords draining their liquor,—beaker on beaker,—in one mad, vain hope—to drown out their own dark thoughts. The fiery apparition had vanished from the plaster only to glow before the uncertain vision of each and all. Soon rose drunken laughter, more fearful than any scream or moaning. Avil at least kept sober. Once he turned to Mermaza. “What are these flashes? The lamps cast shadow. And this rumbling?” “A storm approaches, though still far off.” “Foul omen at this season!” answered Avil, and under breath—scoffer that he was—he muttered a spell against the “rain-fiends.” Atossa sat on her own high seat, watching, waiting, wondering. One can hardly say whether she had hopes or fears. She had not spoken since the miracle. What followed she remembered as she would recall a dim memory of long ago. Daniel was sitting by her side. Once she ventured, despite Belshazzar’s frown, to speak to him. “My father, the spirit of the holy Ahura is on you. Tell me, shall we be saved, you, and Ruth and I, from the power of these ‘Lovers of Night’?”