evening meal with his hungry companion, and feels the soft, moist lips
caressing the palm of his hand as they close over the morsel of bread.
In the gray dawn he is roused from his bivouac by the gentle stir of a
warm, sweet breath over his sleeping face, and looks up into the eyes
of his faithful fellow-traveller, ready and waiting for the toil of the
day. Surely, unless he is a pagan and an unbeliever, by whatever name
he calls upon his God, he will thank Him for this voiceless sympathy,
this dumb affection, and his morning prayer will embrace a double
blessing--God bless us both, and keep our feet from falling and our
souls from death!

And then, through the keen morning air, the swift hoofs beat their
spirited music 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 Nisasans, 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