The garden had been laid out on an artificial hill, which overlooked the inundated plain.  Blue and white lotus-blossoms floated on the smooth surface of the water, and vast numbers of water-birds hovered along the shores or over the flood.  Flocks of white, herons appeared on the banks, their plumage gleaming like glaciers on distant mountain peaks; a solitary eagle circled upward on its broad pinions through the pure morning air, turtle-doves nestled in the tops of the palm-trees; pelicans and ducks fluttered screaming away, whenever a gay sail appeared.  The air had been cooled by the storm, a fresh north-wind was blowing, and, notwithstanding the early hour, there were a number of boats sailing over the deluged fields before the breeze.  The songs of the rowers, the plashing strokes of their oars and the cries of the birds, all contributed to enliven the watery landscape of the Nile valley, which, though varied in color, was somewhat monotonous.

Bartja and Sappho stood leaning on each other by the low wall which ran round Rhodopis’ garden, exchanging tender words and watching the scene below, till at last Bartja’s quick eye caught sight of a boat making straight for the house and coming on fast by the help of the breeze and powerful rowers.

A few minutes later the boat put in to shore and Zopyrus with his deliverers stood before them.

Darius’s plan had succeeded perfectly, thanks to the storm, which, by its violence and the unusual time of its appearance, had scared the Egyptians; but still there was no time to be lost, as it might reasonably be supposed that the men of Sais would pursue their fugitive with all the means at their command.

Sappho, therefore, had to take a short farewell of her grandmother, all the more tender, however, for its shortness,—­and then, led by Rartja and followed by old Melitta, who was to accompany her to Persia, she went on board Syloson’s boat.  After an hour’s sail they reached a beautifully-built and fast-sailing vessel, the Hygieia, which belonged to Kallias.

He was waiting for them on board his trireme.  The leave-taking between himself and his young friends was especially affectionate.  Bartja hung a heavy and costly gold chain round the neck of the old man in token of his gratitude, while Syloson, in remembrance of the dangers they had shared together, threw his purple cloak over Darius’ shoulders.  It was a master-specimen of Tynan dye, and had taken the latter’s fancy.  Darius accepted the gift with pleasure, and said, as he took leave:  “You must never forget that I am indebted to you, my Greek friend, and as soon as possible give me an opportunity of doing you service in return.”

“You ought to come to me first, though,” exclaimed Zopyrus, embracing his deliverer.  “I am perfectly ready to share my last gold piece with you; or what is more, if it would do you a service, to sit a whole week in that infernal hole from which you saved me.  Ah! they’re weighing anchor.  Farewell, you brave Greek.  Remember me to the flower-sisters, especially to the pretty, little Stephanion, and tell her her long-legged lover won’t be able to plague her again for some time to come at least.  And then, one more thing; take this purse of gold for the wife and children of that impertinent fellow, whom I struck too hard in the heat of the fray.”