“And then Aristomachus, the brave old man who succeeded Phanes when he fled.  He has vanished, no one knows whither, but people say that the crown-prince has either imprisoned him in a dismal dungeon on account of his having uttered threats of retaliating the cruelty shown to Phanes’ children, or—­what would be worse—­has had him dragged off to some distant quarry.  The poor old man was exiled from his home, not for his own fault, but by the malice of his enemies, and the very day on which we lost sight of him an embassy arrived here from the Spartan people recalling Aristomachus to the Eurotas with all the honors Greece could bestow, because his sons had brought great glory to their country.  A ship wreathed with flowers was sent to fetch the honored old man, and at the head of the deputation was his own brave, strong son, now crowned with glory and fame.”

“I know him.  He’s a man of iron.  Once he mutilated himself cruelly to avoid disgrace.  By the Anahita star, which is setting so beautifully in the east, he shall be revenged!”

“Oh, can it be so late?  To me the time has gone by like a sweet breeze, which kissed my forehead and passed away.  Did not you hear some one call?  They will be waiting for us, and you must be at your friend’s house in the town before dawn.  Good-bye, my brave hero.”

“Good-bye, my dearest one.  In five days we shall hear our marriage-hymn.  But you tremble as if we were going to battle instead of to our wedding.”

“I’m trembling at the greatness of our joy; one always trembles in expectation of anything unusually great.”

“Hark, Rhodopis is calling again; let us go.  I have asked Theopompus to arrange everything about our wedding with her according to the usual custom; and I shall remain in his house incognito until I can carry you off as my own dear wife.”

“And I will go with you.”

The next morning, as the three friends were walking with their host in his garden, Zopyrus exclaimed:  “Wily, Bartja, I’ve been dreaming all night of your Sappho.  What a lucky fellow you are!  Why I fancied my new wife in Sardis was no end of a beauty until I saw Sappho, and now when I think of her she seems like an owl.  If Araspes could see Sappho he would be obliged to confess that even Panthea had been outdone at last.  Such a creature was never made before.  Auramazda is an awful spendthrift; he might have made three beauties out of Sappho.  And how charmingly it sounded when she said ‘good-night’ to us in Persian.”

“While I was away,” said Bartja, “she has been taking a great deal of trouble to learn Persian from the wife of a Babylonian carpet-merchant, a native of Susa, who is living at Naukratis, in order to surprise me.

“Yes, she is a glorious girl,” said Theopompus.  “My late wife loved the little one as if she had been her own child.  She would have liked to have had her as a wife for our son who manages the affairs of my house at Miletus, but the gods have ordained otherwise!  Ah, how glad she would have been to see the wedding garland at Rhodopis’ door!”