palace, wall; a hand
was seen to beckon from the window: the youth obeyed the signal, swung
himself over the ledge and into the room at a bound. Then words of love
were exchanged, the names Gaumata and Mandane whispered softly, kisses
and vows given and received. At last the old man clapped his hands.
The youth obeyed, kissed and embraced Nitetis' waiting-maid once more,
jumped out of the window into the garden, hurried past the admirers of
the blue lily who were just coming up, slipped with his companion
into the trap-door which had been kept open, closed it carefully, and
vanished.

Mandane hurried to the room in which her mistress generally spent the
evening. She was well acquainted with her habits and knew that every
evening, when the stars had risen, Nitetis was accustomed to go to the
window looking towards the Euphrates, and spend hours gazing into the
river and over the plain; and that at that time she never needed her
attendance. So she felt quite safe from fear of discovery in this
quarter, and knowing she was under the protection of the chief of the
eunuchs himself, could wait for her lover calmly.

But scarcely had she discovered that her mistress had fainted, when
she heard the garden filling with people, a confused sound of men's
and eunuchs' voices, and the notes of the trumpet used to summon the
sentries. At first she was frightened and fancied her lover had been
discovered, but Boges appearing and whispering: "He has escaped safely,"
she at once ordered the other attendants, whom she had banished to the
women's apartments during her rendezvous, and who now came flocking
back, to carry their mistress into her sleeping-room, and then began
using all the remedies she knew of, to restore her to consciousness.
Nitetis had scarcely opened her eyes when Boges came in, followed by two
eunuchs, whom he ordered to load her delicate arms with fetters.

Nitetis submitted; she could not utter one word, not even when Boges
called out as he was leaving the room: "Make yourself happy in your
cage, my little imprisoned bird. They've just been telling your lord
that a royal marten has been making merry in your dove-cote. Farewell,
and think of the poor tormented Boges in this tremendous heat, when you
feel the cool damp earth. Yes, my little bird, death teaches us to know
our real friends, and so I won't have you buried in a coarse linen sack,
but in a soft silk shawl. Farewell, my darling!"

The poor, heavily-affli