Croesus promised to act as mediator in this case also, and before Bartja left, made him acquainted with Phanes.

The youth had heard such a pleasant account of the Athenian from Sappho, that he met him with great cordiality, and soon won the fancy of the older and more experienced man, who gave him many a useful hint, and a letter to Theopompus, the Milesian, at Naukratis.  Phanes concluded by asking for a private interview.

Bartja returned to his friends looking grave and thoughtful; soon, however, he forgot his cause of anxiety and joked merrily with them over a farewell cup.  Before he mounted his horse the next morning, Nebenchari asked to be allowed an audience.  He was admitted, and begged Bartja to take the charge of a large written roll for king Amasis.  It contained a detailed account of Nitetis’ sufferings, ending with these words:  “Thus the unhappy victim of your ambitious plans will end her life in a few hours by poison, to the use of which she was driven by despair.  The arbitrary caprices of the mighty can efface all happiness from the life of a human creature, just as we wipe a picture from the tablet with a sponge.  Your servant Nebenchari is pining in a foreign land, deprived of home and property, and the wretched daughter of a king of Egypt dies a miserable and lingering death by her own hand.  Her body will be torn to pieces by dogs and vultures, after the manner of the Persians.  Woe unto them who rob the innocent of happiness here and of rest beyond the grave!”

Bartja had not been told the contents of this letter, but promised to take it with him; he then, amid the joyful shouts of the people, set up outside the city-gate the stones which, according to a Persian superstition, were to secure him a prosperous journey, and left Babylon.

Nebenchari, meanwhile, prepared to return to his post by Nitetis’ dying-bed.

Just as he reached the brazen gates between the harem-gardens and the courts of the large palace, an old man in white robes came up to him.  The sight seemed to fill Nebenchari with terror; he started as if the gaunt old man had been a ghost.  Seeing, however, a friendly and familiar smile on the face of the other, he quickened his steps, and, holding out his hand with a heartiness for which none of his Persian acquaintances would have given him credit, exclaimed in Egyptian:  “Can I believe my eyes?  You in Persia, old Hib?  I should as soon have expected the sky to fall as to have the pleasure of seeing you on the Euphrates.  But now, in the name of Osiris, tell me what can have induced you, you old ibis, to leave your warm nest on the Nile and set out on such a long journey eastward.”