st kinsman, I should order the eunuchs to take you back
to the harem, that you might have time to think over your conduct in
solitude."

These words rendered the mortified woman's task much easier.... She
began to weep loud and bitterly, raising her hands and eyes to her
angry lord in such a beseeching manner that his anger was changed into
compassion, and he raised her from the ground with the question: "Have
you a petition to ask of me?"

"What can I find to wish for, now that the sun of my life has withdrawn
his light?" was her faltering answer, hindered by sobs.

Cambyses shrugged his shoulders, and asked again "Is there nothing then
that you wish for? I used to be able to dry your tears with presents;
ask me for some golden comfort to-day."

"Phaedime has nothing left to wish for now. For whom can she put
on jewels when her king, her husband, withdraws the light of his
countenance?"

"Then I can do nothing for you," exclaimed Cambyses, turning away
angrily from the kneeling woman. Boges had been quite right in advising
Phaedime to paint herself with white, for underneath the pale color
her cheeks were burning with shame and anger. But, in spite of all,
she controlled her passionate feelings, made the same deep obeisance to
Nitetis as to the queen-mother, and allowed her tears to flow fast and
freely in sight of all the Achaemenidae.

Otanes and Intaphernes could scarcely suppress their indignation
at seeing their daughter and grandchild thus humbled, and many an
Achaemenidae looked on, feeling deep sympathy with the unhappy Phaedime
and a hidden grudge against the favored, beautiful stranger.

The formalities were at last at an end and the feast began. Just before
the king, in a golden basket, and gracefully bordered round with other
fruits, lay a gigantic pomegranate, as large as a child's head.

Cambyses noticed it now for the first time, examined its enormous size
and rare beauty with the eye of a connoisseur, and said: "Who grew this
wonderful pomegranate?"

"Thy servant Oropastes," answered the chief of the Magi, with a low
obeisance. "For many years I have studied the art of gardening, and have
ventured to lay this, the most beautiful fruit of my labors, at the feet
of my king."

"I owe you thanks," cried the king: "My friends, this pomegranate will
assist me in the choice of a governor at home when we go out to war,
for, by Mithras, the man who can cherish and foster a little tree so
carefully w