"Better to serve Sarchedon in a tent of goat's-hair," was the answer; "better by far draw water at the Well of Palms for your herds, your camels, and the fair horse you rode that happy morning; better to be the meanest and lowest of your slaves, than never see your kind face again!"
Vanity, pride, ambition—the dazzling career open to him—the lustrous beauty of the queen: what were they to such love as this, but the flash and glitter of tinsel, compared to the ray of a real diamond? If a thought of Semiramis and her fatal favour crossed his brain, it did but spur him on to secure his happiness ere she could thwart it, to remove Ishtar, ere it was too late, from the sphere of the queen's displeasure, and the still more dangerous admiration of her son.
"Then I will ask you of your father before another day has gone down!" exclaimed Sarchedon, stealing his arm round that lithe slender figure, leaning over the parapet, like the palm-tree bending to meet her mate. "To-morrow will I send into the court below a score of camels and a hundred sheep, with a suit of the truest armour that ever brought the captain of a host unwounded out of battle, and my young men shall say to Arbaces—'they seek but Ishtar in return.'"
"So my father will summon me from amongst my maidens, to know if peradventure his daughter's heart hath gone forth to him who is so lavish of sheep and camels, so skilled in choice of armour, and what shall I say then?"
Only from the depths of a young girl's heart, happy and triumphant in her honest love, could have risen the smile that beamed on Ishtar's face. It was reflected in Sarchedon's eyes, while he answered:
"The daughter of Arbaces will tell him, that where her heart has gone forth, thither must Ishtar needs follow, and she will be mine!"
"And she will be yours!" repeated the girl, with a great sob of womanly happiness, tempered by maiden shame, the blood rushing to her face, while she hid it on her lover's breast.
Fast as her heart was beating, it had scarce counted a score of pulsations ere tramp of horses, call of servants, and flash of torches in the court below, announced the return of Arbaces from his duties about the Great King.
No sooner had he dismounted at the porch of his palace than the fond familiar voice was heard, asking loudly for his daughter; and gliding like a shadow from the embrace of Sarchedon, she was gone.
Yet even in that brief moment during which her brow was pressed against his bosom, she had discovered the amulet he wore, and knew, as women only do know such things, that it was not there when she saw him last.