The noonday air was hot and dry in the garden of the palace, but in the graceful marble pavilion there was coolness and the sound of gently plashing water.

Rose-trees and climbing plants screened the sunlight from the long windows, and gave a soft green tinge to the eight-sided hall, where a fountain played in the midst, its little jet falling into a basin hollowed in the floor.

On the rippling surface a few water-lilies swayed gently with the constant motion, anchored by their long stems to the bottom.

All was cool and quiet and restful, and Nehushta stood looking at the fountain.
She was alone and very unhappy.

Zoroaster had left the palace without a word to her, and she knew only by the vague reports her slaves brought her, that he was gone for many days.