"Now may the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob bless and prosper the
journey of the merciful, and bring him in peace to his desired haven.
But stay; I have nothing to give thee in return--only this: that I can
tell thee where the Messiah must be sought. For our prophets have said
that he should be born not in Jerusalem, but in Bethlehem of Judah. May
the Lord bring thee in safety to that place, because thou hast had pity
upon the sick."

It was already long past midnight. Artaban rode in haste, and Vasda,
restored by the brief rest, ran eagerly through the silent plain and
swam the channels of the river. She put forth the remnant of her
strength, and fled over the ground like a gazelle.

But the first beam of the sun sent her shadow before her as she entered
upon the final stadium of the journey, and the eyes of Artaban,
anxiously scanning the great mound of Nimrod and the Temple of the
Seven Spheres, could discern no trace of his friends.

The many-colored terraces of black and orange and red and yellow and
green and blue and white, shattered by the convulsions of nature, and
crumbling under the repeated blows of human violence, still glittered
like a ruined rainbow in the morning light.

Artaban rode swiftly around the hill. He dismounted and climbed to the
highest terrace, looking out towards the west.

The huge desolation of the marshes stretched away to the horizon and
the border of the desert. Bitterns stood by the stagnant pools and
jackals skulked through the low bushes; but there was no sign of the