“Marvellous!” interrupted Hystaspes.

“Perhaps a little too much so to be credible,” added the king.  “Take care, Hellene! remember my arm reaches far.  I shall have the truth of your story put to the proof.”

“I am accustomed,” answered Phanes bowing low, “to follow the advice of our wise philosopher Pythagoras, whose fame may perhaps have reached your ears, and always, before speaking, to consider whether what I am going to say may not cause me sorrow in the future.”

“That sounds well; but, by Mithras, I knew some one who often spoke of that great teacher, and yet in her deeds turned out to be a most faithful disciple of Angramainjus.  You know the traitress, whom we are going to extirpate from the earth like a poisonous viper to-day.”

“Will you forgive me,” answered Phanes, seeing the anguish expressed in the king’s features, “if I quote another of the great master’s maxims?”

“Speak.”

“Blessings go as quickly as they come.  Therefore bear thy lot patiently.  Murmur not, and remember that the gods never lay a heavier weight on any man than he can bear.  Hast thou a wounded heart? touch it as seldom as thou wouldst a sore eye.  There are only two remedies for heart-sickness:—­hope and patience.”

Cambyses listened to this sentence, borrowed from the golden maxims of Pythagoras, and smiled bitterly at the word “patience.”  Still the Athenian’s way of speaking pleased him, and he told him to go on with his story.

Phanes made another deep obeisance, and continued:  “We carried the unconscious youth to my carriage, and brought him to the nearest station.  There he opened his eyes, looked anxiously at me, and asked who I was and what had happened to him?  The master of the station was standing by, so I was obliged to give the name of Gyges in order not to excite his suspicions by belying my pass, as it was only through this that I could obtain fresh horses.

“This wounded young man seemed to know Gyges, for he shook his head and murmured:  ‘You are not the man you give yourself out for.’  Then he closed his eyes again, and a violent attack of fever came on.

“We undressed, bled him and bound up his wounds.  My Persian servant, who had served as overlooker in Amasis’ stables and had seen Bartja there, assisted by the old Egyptian who accompanied me, was very helpful, and asserted untiringly that the wounded man could be no other than your brother.  When we had cleansed the blood from his face, the master of the station too swore that there could be no doubt of his being the younger son of your great father Cyrus.  Meanwhile my Egyptian companion had fetched a potion from the travelling medicine-chest, without which an Egyptian does not care to leave his native country.