and his morning prayer will embrace a double blessing--God
bless us both, the horse and the rider, and keep our feet from
falling and our souls from death!

Then, through the keen morning air, the swift hoofs beat
their tattoo along the road, keeping time to the pulsing of
two hearts that are moved with the same eager desire--to
conquer space, to devour the distance, to attain the goal of
the journey.

Artaban must indeed ride wisely and well if he would keep
the appointed hour with the other Magi; for the route was a
hundred and fifty parasangs, and fifteen was the utmost that
he could travel in a day. But he knew Vasda's strength, and
pushed forward without anxiety, making the fixed distance
every day, though he must travel late into the night, and in
the morning long before sunrise.

He passed along the brown slopes of Mount Orontes,
furrowed by the rocky courses of a hundred torrents.

He crossed the level plains of the Nisaeans, where the
famous herds of horses, feeding in the wide pastures, tossed
their heads at Vasda's approach, and galloped away with a
thunder of many hoofs, and flocks of wild birds rose suddenly
from the swampy meadows, wheeling in great circles with a
shining flutter of innumerable wings and shrill cries of
surprise.

He traversed the fertile fields of Concabar, where the