"I sang of the desert, and of tents, and of whirling sand--there is none of these things here." "You said that your beloved brought roses in his hand--and so I do.

I will crown you with them.

May I?
No--I shall spoil your head-dress.

Take them and do as you will with them." "I will take them--and--I always do as I will." "Then will to take the giver also," answered Zoroaster, letting his arm steal about her, as he half sat upon the balustrade.

Nehushta looked at him again, for he was good to see, and perhaps she loved his straight calm features the better in that his face was fair, and not dark like hers.
"Methinks I have taken the giver already," she answered.
"Not yet--not all," said Zoroaster in a low voice, and a shadow of sadness crossed his noble face that looked white in the moonlight.
Nehushta sighed softly and presently she laid her cheek upon his shoulder where the folding of his purple mantle made a pillow between her face and the polished golden scales of his breastplate.
"I have strange news to tell you, beloved," said Zoroaster presently.
Nehushta started and looked up, for his voice was sad.