the distant peak of Zagros serrated the western horizon the sky was
clear. Jupiter and Saturn rolled together like drops of lambent flame
about to blend in one.

As Artaban watched them, behold, an azure spark was born out of the
darkness beneath, rounding itself with purple splendours to a crimson
sphere, and spiring upward through rays of saffron and orange into a
point of white radiance. Tiny and infinitely remote, yet perfect in
every part, it pulsated in the enormous vault as if the three jewels in
the Magian's breast had mingled and been transformed into a living heart
of light. He bowed his head. He covered his brow with his hands.

"It is the sign," he said. "The King is coming, and I will go to meet
him."




BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON


All night long Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban's horses, had been
waiting, saddled and bridled, in her stall, pawing the ground
impatiently, and shaking her bit as if she shared the eagerness of her
master's purpose, though she knew not its meaning.

Before the birds had fully roused to their strong, high, joyful chant of
morning song, before the white mist had begun to lift lazily from the
plain, the other wise man was in the saddle, riding swiftly along the
high-road, which skirted the base of Mount Orontes, westward.