The wretched girl raised her hands beseechingly to him, crying:  “Oh, do not leave me, Gaumata!  Take me with you!  I forgive you all the misery you have brought on me and my poor mistress.  I love you so much, I will take care of you and nurse you as if I were the lowest servant-girl.”

A short struggle passed in Gaumata’s mind.  He was just going to open the carriage-door and clasp Mandane-his earliest love-in his arms, when the sound of horses’ hoofs coming nearer struck on his ear, and looking round he saw, a carriage full of Magi, among whom were several who had been his companions at the school for priests.  He felt ashamed and afraid of being seen by the very youths, whom he had often treated proudly and haughtily because he was the brother of the high-priest, threw Mandane a purse of gold, which his brother had given him at parting, and ordered the driver to go on as fast as possible.  The mules galloped off.  Mandane kicked the purse away, rushed after the carriage and clung to it firmly.  One of the wheels caught her dress and dragged her down.  With the strength of despair she sprang up, ran after the mules, overtook them on a slight ascent which had lessened their speed, and seized the reins.  The driver used his three-lashed whip, or scourge, the creatures reared, pulled the girl down and rushed on.  Her last cry of agony pierced the wounds of the mutilated man like a sharp lance-thrust.

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On the twelfth day after Nitetis’ death Cambyses went out hunting, in the hope that the danger and excitement of the sport might divert his mind.  The magnates and men of high rank at his court received him with thunders of applause, for which he returned cordial thanks.  These few days of grief had worked a great change in a man so unaccustomed to suffering as Cambyses.  His face was pale, his raven-black hair and beard had grown grey, and the consciousness of victory which usually shone in his eyes was dimmed.  Had he not, only too painfully, experienced that there was a stronger will than his own, and that, easily as he could destroy, it did not be in his power to preserve the life of the meanest creature?  Before starting, Cambyses mustered his troop of sportsmen, and calling Gobryas, asked why Phanes was not there.

“My King did not order . . .”

“He is my guest and companion, once for all; call him and follow us.”

Gobryas bowed, dashed back to the palace, and in half an hour reappeared among the royal retinue with Phanes.

The Athenian was warmly welcomed by many of the group, a fact which seems strange when we remember that courtiers are of all men the most prone to envy, and a royal favorite always the most likely object to excite their ill will.  But Phanes seemed a rare exception to this rule.  He had met the Achaemenidae in so frank and winning a manner, had excited so many hopes by the hints he had thrown out of an expected and important