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
caravan of the wise men, far or near.
At the edge of the terrace he saw a little cairn of broken bricks, and
under them a piece of parchment. He caught it up and read: "We have
waited past the midnight, and can delay no longer. We go to find the
King. Follow us across the desert."
Artaban sat down upon the ground and covered his head in despair.
"How can I cross the desert," said he, "with no food and with a spent
horse? I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire, and buy a train of
camels, and provision for the journey. I may never overtake my friends.
Only God the merciful knows whether I shall not lose the sight of the
King because I tarried to show mercy."
FOR THE SAKE OF A LITTLE CHILD
There was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was listening to the
story of the Other Wise Man.
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