“Tell you what?” asked Nehushta, as though she had not heard.

“Tell me what it is that makes you sad,” repeated the queen.

“Tell you?” exclaimed the princess, suddenly looking up, with flashing eyes, “tell you? oh no!”

Atossa looked a little sadly at Nehushta, as though hurt at the want of confidence she showed.  But the Hebrew maiden turned away and went and looked through the hanging plants at the garden without.  Then Atossa rose softly and came and stood behind her, and put her arm about her, and let her own fair cheek rest against the princess’s dark face.  Nehushta said nothing, but she trembled, as though something she hated were touching her.

“Is it because your friend has gone away suddenly?” asked Atossa almost in a whisper, with the sweetest accent of sympathy.  Nehushta started a little.

“No!” she answered, almost fiercely.  “Why do you say that?”

“Only—­he wrote me a little word before he went.  I thought you might like to know he was safe,” replied the queen, gently pressing her arm about Nehushta’s slender waist.

“Wrote to you?” repeated the princess, in angry surprise.

“Yes, dearest,” answered the queen, looking down in well-feigned embarrassment.  “I would not have told you, only I thought you would wish to hear of him.  If you like, I will read you a part of what he says,” she added, producing from her bosom the little piece of parchment carefully rolled together.

It was more than Nehushta could bear.  Her olive skin turned suddenly pale, and she tore herself away from the queen.

“Oh no! no!  I will not hear it!  Leave me in peace—­for your gods’ sake, leave me in peace!”

Atossa drew herself up and stared coldly at Nehushta, as though she were surprised beyond measure and deeply offended.

“Truly, I need not be told twice to leave you in peace,” she said proudly.  “I thought to comfort you, because I saw you were sad—­even at the expense of my own feelings.  I will leave you now—­but I bear no malice against you.  You are very, very young, and very, very foolish.”

Atossa shook her head, thoughtfully, and swept from the pavilion in stately and offended dignity.  But as she walked alone through the garden, she smiled to herself and softly hummed a merry melody she had heard from an Egyptian actor on the previous evening.  Darius had brought a company of Egyptians from Babylon, and after the banquet, had commanded that they should perform their music, and dancing, and mimicry, for the amusement of the assembled court.

Atossa’s sweet voice echoed faintly among the orange trees and the roses, as she went towards the palace, and the sound of it came distantly to Nehushta’s ears.  She stood for a while where the queen had left her, her face pale and her hands wringing together; and then, with a sudden impulse, she went and threw herself upon the floor, and buried her head in the deep, soft cushions.  Her hands wandered in the wealth of her black hair, and her quick, hot tears stained the delicate silk of the pillows.