And Daniel, calm, unblenching, sober, amid a hundred gibbering drunkards, answered with a confidence not of this world: “My child, we shall be saved. Doubt it not; but whether we be saved in this body, or depart to see Jehovah’s face, He knoweth, not I. But His will is ever good.” The king interrupted boisterously, with unveiled mockery:— “Give wisdom, noble Daniel. Shall I rebuild the walls of Uruk or spend the money on new canals at Sippar?” The Hebrew made the king wince once more, as he looked on him, “Lord of Babylon, think no more on walls and cities. Think of your past deeds. Think of the Just Spirit before whom you must stand.” “Verily, Jew,” sneered Avil, “you will play your mad game to the end.” “To the end,” was all the answer; but neither king nor pontiff made mock of Daniel again. Deeper the drinking, madder the revelling. From the outer palace rose the laughter of soldiers and the city folk. The priests of Bel at length gathered courage from their wine. They roared out their hymn, and the dancing girls caught up red torches,—brandishing, shrieking, dancing, one lurid whirl of uncaged demons. The officers put forth their hands time and again for the beakers which the eunuchs could not fill too fast. In the reaction after the portent, the scene became an orgy. The king’s cheek was flushed, his voice was loud and high. Tavat, the queen-mother, quitted the feast; and Atossa would have given all she possessed—how little!—to be suffered to follow. She had hardly tasted the cups pressed on her. She was utterly weary. The gold and jewels on her head seemed an intolerable weight. Oh, to be away,—to have that scene blotted out, even by death’s long slumber! Her head fell forward. Ahura was kind. Did she sleep? Suddenly Belshazzar’s voice aroused her. “Midnight, the feast ends; and you, O Jew, have lost!” The king was standing. The lamps were smoking low; the noise of the feasters failing, as the wine accomplished its work. The tipsy priests had quavered out their last triumph song:— “Bel-Marduk, who rulest forever, Thee, thee we praise!” Belshazzar addressed Mermaza. “Eunuch, deliver Daniel the Jew to Khatin for instant death. His mummery turns to his own ruin. _Now_ truly let his weak god save!” Even as he spoke there was a strange clamour rising in the palace without: a headlong gallop, a shouting, not of mirth but of alarm. None yet heeded. “Your Majesty,” Daniel was answering steadily, “suffer me only this: let me embrace my daughter Ruth.” The king nodded. “Be brief, for you have vexed me long!” Then, turning to Atossa: “Ah! lady, Queen,—at last! to the harem! you are my wife!”