of his treasures, whether we be his worshippers or not.  As to the Carthaginians, facts have already justified my predictions.  Our fleet is manned principally by Syrians and Phoenicians, and they have, as might be expected, refused to go to war against their brethren.  Cambyses laughed at my reasons, and ended by swearing, when he was already somewhat intoxicated, that he could carry out difficult undertakings and subdue powerful nations, even without the help of Bartja and Phanes.”

“What could that allusion to you mean, my son?” asked Rhodopis.

“He won the battle of Pelusiam,” cried Zopyrus, before his friend could answer.  “He and no one else!”

“Yes,” added Croesus, “and you might have been more prudent, and have remembered that it is a dangerous thing to excite the jealousy of a man like Cambyses.  You all of you forget that his heart is sore, and that the slightest vexation pains him.  He has lost the woman he really loved; his dearest friend is gone; and now you want to disparage the last thing in this world that he still cares for,—­his military glory.”

“Don’t blame him,” said Bartja, grasping the old man’s hand.  “My brother has never been unjust, and is far from envying me what I must call my good fortune, for that my attack arrived just at the right time can hardly be reckoned as a merit on my part.  You know he gave me this splendid sabre, a hundred thorough-bred horses, and a golden hand-mill as rewards of my bravery.”

Croesus’ words had caused Sappho a little anxiety at first; but this vanished on hearing her husband speak so confidently, and by the time Zopyrus had finished his wreath and placed it on Rhodopis’ head, all her fears were forgotten.

Gyges had prepared his for the young mother.  It was made of snow-white water-lilies, and, when she placed it among her brown curls, she looked so wonderfully lovely in the simple ornament, that Bartja could not help kissing her on the forehead, though so many witnesses were present.  This little episode gave a merry turn to the conversation; every one did his best to enliven the others, refreshments of all kinds were handed round, and even Darius lost his gravity for a time and joined in the jests that were passing among his friends.

When the sun had set, the slaves set elegantly-carved chairs, footstools, and little tables on the open part of the deck.  Our cheerful party now repaired thither and beheld a sight so marvellously beautiful as to be quite beyond their expectations.

The feast of Neith, called in Egyptian “the lamp-burning,” was celebrated by a universal illumination, which began at the rising of the moon.  The shores of the Nile looked like two long lines of fire.  Every temple, house and but was ornamented with lamps according to the means of its possessors.  The porches of the country-houses and the little towers on the larger buildings were all lighted up by brilliant flames, burning in pans of pitch and sending up clouds