“Now, as Bel is lord of Babylon, we will find straiter quarters yet for this stiff-backed pair!” Then there were more steps, and again silence; but presently a soft rattle at Darius’s own door, and the prince crept toward it, as far as his chains suffered. Some one spoke at the ample keyhole.
“Listen well, my prince, the other wardens are all around us.”
Existence in such a prison had taught Darius to catch every whisper.
“I hear you. You are Zerubbabel, the Jew. Where is Isaiah?”
“He is more suspected than I; and even my fidelity as turnkey is half in doubt. Isaiah is looking to the locks on the tunnel. The escape must be to-night or not at all. Shaphat is arranging to have horses waiting beyond the gates.” Feet sounded once more in the gallery. The speaker moved noiselessly away. Again silence and again the voice:—
“The chief priest swears that longer parley with you is useless. He urges the king to cast your head into Cyrus’s camp. That would bar the last door to peace, and spur on Babylon to resist to the uttermost.”
“And Daniel?”
“Avil would love to slay him with you, but dare not. News of his execution, were it to leak out, would still raise the city in riot. But we hope to save him with you.”
“Till when shall I wait to-night?” The words came eagerly.