The girl turned and ran through the halls, and Nehushta went another way upon her search. Something within her told her that she was in great danger, and the calm she had seen in the palace could not allay the terror of that cry she had heard three times from the hills. Just then the Syrian maid came running in and fell breathless at Nehushta's feet. "Fly, fly, beloved mistress, the devils of the mountains are upon us--they cover the hills--they are closing every entrance--the people in the lower palace are all slain." "Where is Zoroaster?" "He is in the temple with the priests--by this time he is surely slain--he could know of nothing going on--fly, fly!" "On which side are they coming?" "From the hills, from the hills they are descending in thousands." "Go you all to the farther window, leap down upon the balcony--it is scarce a man's height,--follow it to the end past the corner where it joins the main wall of the garden. Run along upon the wall till you find a place where you can descend. Through the gardens you can easily reach the road. Fly, and save yourselves in the darkness." But before she had half finished, the last of the slave women, mad with terror, disappeared. "Why do you not go with the rest, my little maid?" asked Nehushta. "I have eaten thy bread, shall I leave thee in the hour of death?" "Go, child, I have seen thy devotion; thou must not perish." But the Syrian leaped to her feet as she answered: "I am a bondwoman, but I am a daughter of Israel, even as thou art. Though all the others leave thee, I will not. It may be I can help thee." "Thou art a brave child; I must go to Zoroaster; stay thou here, hide thyself among the curtains, escape by the window if any one come to harm thee." She turned and went rapidly out. But the maid grasped the knife in her girdle, and stole upon her mistress's steps. The din rose louder every moment--the shrieks of wounded women with the moaning of wounded men, the clash of swords and arms, and a quick, loud rattle, as half a dozen arrows struck the wall together. Onward flew Nehushta till she reached the temple door; then she listened. Faintly through the thick walls she could hear the sound of the evening chant. The priests were all within with Zoroaster, unconscious of their danger. Nehushta tried the door. The great bronze gates were locked, and though she pushed with her whole strength, they would not move a hair's breadth. "Press the nail nearest the middle," said a small voice. Nehushta started. It was the little Syrian slave. She put her hand upon the round head of the nail and pressed. The door opened, turning noiselessly upon its hinges. The seventy priests, in even rank, stood round. Solemnly the chant rose round the sacred fire upon the black stone altar. Zoroaster stood before it, his hands lifted in prayer. But Nehushta with a sudden cry broke their melody.