Atossa sprang to the stairway. “Have I not bidden you magpies keep silence? Do I not know when I hunger? Begone, or—” Retreating footsteps told that the menials had not waited for her threat. She turned to the stranger, and faced him fairly. “Sir,” she said directly, “I will believe you are Darius’s friend. Say on.” Now what Isaiah told of the adventure of Darius with the king in the Hanging Gardens we will not here repeat. When he had finished, when Atossa knew the height and the depth of the Babylonians’ guile, the Jew looked for a scene of terrible agony. He did not know the royal strength of the daughter of Cyrus. Her white cheeks grew yet whiter, but her only answer was, “Yet though I know all this, what profit? Am I not prisoner here? I shall see Darius again, at a time only Ahura the Merciful knoweth. By your own mouth the prince is safe and free.” “He is free, but not safe.” “Not safe? Belshazzar will put forth his hands against the sacred person of an envoy? I cannot believe this guile,—I will not!” Atossa flushed as in the anger of despair. “The king may swear a thousand oaths, as you say, and keep none; but to murder an ambassador were a deed which Marduk and Ramman, his own foul gods, would reward with swift vengeance!” “Lady,” said the Hebrew, gently, “whether Marduk and Ramman may requite or not, Avil-Marduk is the physician who can mingle drugs to soothe the king’s conscience. Since morning those who brought me the earlier warnings have borne me this: The king and his council have pondered long over the ownership of the Median cloak torn from the shoulders of the wrestler in the gardens. They have suspicions,—suspicions only; but if they seem well grounded, Avil and Belshazzar are not prone to stickle at trifles with such a stake.” “Jew,” Atossa spoke slowly and calmly, “tell me, in what way is the prince to be attacked? Answer truly, as we Persians and your people call on one truth-loving God.” Isaiah’s answer was given in so low a tone that Masistes heard none of it. When he finished, Atossa asked aloud. “And why do you not go to the prince yourself? Why bring all this to me?” Isaiah smiled bitterly. “Already a net of spies is spread around Darius. This morning I found I was more than suspected. An attempt to meet the prince would have been the signal for my arrest. But Zerubbabel, my good friend, stood sentry at the harem gate, and suffered me to pass. He guards below. The harem is accounted so inviolable, that in mere security it is less watched. Though you may not see Darius, have you no Persian servant who can be trusted to warn? Who dreams that you are to be guarded against?” “Behold the messenger!” interposed Atossa, turning half playfully to Masistes. Before Isaiah could answer there were steps again on the staircase, and there thrust itself into view of the fulsome smile of Mermaza.