The lively, cheerful Athenian had just come back from his native country, and, as an old and tried friend, was not only received by Rhodopis, but made acquainted with the secret of Sappho’s marriage.

Knakias, her old slave, had, it is true, taken in the flag which was the sign of reception, two days ago; but he knew that Kallias was always welcome to his mistress, and therefore admitted him just as readily as he refused every one else.

The Athenian had plenty to tell, and when Rhodopis was called away on business, he took his favorite Sappho into the garden, joking and teasing her gaily as they looked out for her lover’s coming.  But Bartja did not come, and Sappho began to be so anxious that Kallias called old Melitta, whose longing looks in the direction of Naukratis were, if possible, more anxious even than those of her mistress, and told her to fetch a musical instrument which he had brought with him.

It was a rather large lute, made of gold and ivory, and as he handed it to Sappho, he said, with a smile:  “The inventor of this glorious instrument, the divine Anakreon, had it made expressly for me, at my own wish.  He calls it a Barbiton, and brings wonderful tones from its chords—­tones that must echo on even into the land of shadows.  I have told this poet, who offers his life as one great sacrifice to the Muses, Eros and Dionysus, a great deal about you, and he made me promise to bring you this song, which he wrote on purpose for you, as a gift from himself.

“Now, what do you say to this song?  But by Hercules, child, how pale you are!  Have the verses affected you so much, or are you frightened at this likeness of your own longing heart?  Calm yourself, girl.  Who knows what may have happened to your lover?”

“Nothing has happened,—­nothing,” cried a gay, manly voice, and in a few seconds Sappho was in the arms of him she loved.

Kallias looked on quietly, smiling at the wonderful beauty of these two young lovers.

“But now,” said the prince, after Sappho had made him acquainted with Kallias, “I must go at once to your grandmother.  We dare not wait four days for our wedding.  It must be to-day!  There is danger in every hour of delay.  Is Theopompus here?”

“I think he must be,” said Sappho.  “I know of nothing else, that could keep my grandmother so long in the house.  But tell me, what is this about our marriage?  It seems to me . . .”

“Let us go in first, love.  I fancy a thunder-storm must be coming on.  The sky is so dark, and it’s so intolerably sultry.”

“As you like, only make haste, unless you mean me to die of impatience.  There is not the slightest reason to be afraid of a storm.  Since I was a child there has not been either lightning or thunder in Egypt at this time of year.”

“Then you will see something new to-day,” said Kallias, laughing; for a large drop of rain has just fallen on my bald head, “the Nile-swallows were flying close to the water as I came here, and you see there is a cloud coming over the moon already.  Come in quickly, or you will get wet.  Ho, slave, see that a black lamb is offered to the gods of the lower world.”