“Speak out.”

“No, I wish you would come into the garden with me.”

Bartja nodded to the others, who were still sitting over their wine, laid his hand on Darius’ shoulder and went out with him into the bright moonlight.  As soon as they were alone, Darius seized both his friend’s hands, and said:  “To-day is the third time that things have happened in the heavens, which bode no good for you.  Your evil star has approached your favorable constellation so nearly, that a mere novice in astrology could see some serious danger was at hand.  Be on your guard, Bartja, and start for Egypt to-day; the stars tell me that the danger is here on the Euphrates, not abroad.”

“Do you believe implicitly in the stars?”

“Implicitly.  They never lie.”

“Then it would be folly to try and avoid what they have foretold.”

“Yes, no man can run away from his destiny; but that very destiny is like a fencing-master—­his favorite pupils are those who have the courage and skill to parry his own blows.  Start for Egypt to-day, Bartja.”

“I cannot—­I haven’t taken leave of my mother and Atossa.”

“Send them a farewell message, and tell Croesus to explain the reason of your starting so quickly.”

“They would call me a coward.”

“It is cowardly to yield to any mortal, but to go out of the way of one’s fate is wisdom.”

“You contradict yourself, Darius.  What would the fencing-master say to a runaway-pupil?”

“He would rejoice in the stratagem, by which an isolated individual tried to escape a superior force.”

“But the superior force must conquer at last.—­What would be the use of my trying to put off a danger which, you say yourself, cannot be averted?  If my tooth aches, I have it drawn at once, instead of tormenting and making myself miserable for weeks by putting off the painful operation as a coward or a woman would, till the last moment.  I can await this coming danger bravely, and the sooner it comes the better, for then I shall have it behind me.”

“You do not know how serious it is.”

“Are you afraid for my life?”

“No.”

“Then tell me, what you are afraid of.”

“That Egyptian priest with whom I used to study the stars, once cast your horoscope with me.  He knew more about the heavens, than any man I ever saw.  I learnt a great deal from him, and I will not hide from you that even then he drew my attention to dangers that threaten you now.”

“And you did not tell me?”

“Why should I have made you uneasy beforehand?  Now that your destiny is drawing near, I warn you.”

“Thank you,—­I will be careful.  In former times I should not have listened to such a warning, but now that I love Sappho, I feel as if my life were not so much my own to do what I like with, as it used to be.”

“I understand this feeling . . .”