He ceased and the cadence of the boy’s voice trembled and was sad.  The sun set out of sight beneath the plain, and from far off a great sound of music came in upon the evening breeze.

Daniel raised his snowy head and gazed keenly on his young companion, and there was disappointment in his look.

“Wouldst thou be a prophet?” he asked, “thou that dreamest of fair maidens and art disquieted for the love of a woman?  Thinkest thou, boy, that a woman shall help thee when thou art grown to be a man, or that the word of the Lord dwelleth in vanity?  Prophesy, and interpret thy vision, if so be that thou art able to interpret it.  Come, let us depart, for the king is at hand, and the night shall be given over for a space to the rioters and the mirth-makers, with whom our portion is not.  Verily I also have dreamed a dream.  Let us depart.”

The venerable prophet stood up to his height, and grasping his staff in his right hand, began to lead the way from the hall.  Zoroaster laid hold of him by the arm, as though entreating him to remain.

“Speak, master,” he cried earnestly, “and declare to me thy dream, and see whether it accords with mine, and whether there shall be darkness and rumour of war in the land.”

But Daniel the prophet would not stay to speak, but went out of the hall, and Zoroaster the Persian youth went with him, pondering deeply on the present and on the future, and on the nature of the vision he had seen; and made fearful by the silence of his friend and teacher.

The darkness fell upon the twilight, and within the hall the lamps and candlesticks were kindled and gave out warm light and rare perfumes.  All down the endless rows of tables, the preparations for the feast were ready; and from the gardens without, strains of music came up ever stronger and nearer, so that the winged sounds seemed to come into the vast building and hover above the tables and seats of honour, preparing the way for the guests.  Nearer and nearer came the harps and the pipes and the trumpets and the heavy reed-toned bagpipes, and above all the strong rich chorus of the singers chanting high the evening hymn of praise to Bel, god of sunlight, honoured in his departing, as in his coming, with the music of the youngest and most tuneful voices in Shinar.

First came the priests of Bel, two and two, robed in their white tunics, loose white garments on their legs, the white mitre of the priestly order on their heads, and their great beards curled smooth and glossy as silk.  In their midst, with stately dignity, walked their chief, his eyes upon the ground, his hands crossed upon his breast, his face like dark marble in the twilight.  On either side, those who had officiated at the sacrifice, bore the implements of their service,—­the knife, the axe, the cord, and the fire in its dish; and their hands were red with the blood of the victim lately slain.  Grand, great men, mighty of body and broad of brow, were these priests of Bel,—­strong with the meat and the wine of the offerings that were their daily portion, and confident in the faith of their ancient wisdom.