afresh, she would utter
imploring supplications to the gods for mercy, and a few minutes later,
begin conjuring her mother to take her to the hanging-gardens, that they
might hear Nitetis' defence of her own conduct.

Kassandane tried to soothe the violent girl, and assured her every
attempt to visit the hanging-gardens would be in vain. Then Atossa began
to rage again, until at last her mother was forced to command silence,
and as morning had already began to dawn, sent her to her sleeping-room.

The girl obeyed, but instead of going to bed, seated herself at a tall
window looking towards the hanging-gardens. Her eyes filled with tears
again, as she thought of her friend--her sister-sitting in that palace
alone, forsaken, banished, and looking forward to an ignominious death.
Suddenly her tearful, weary eyes lighted up as if from some strong
purpose, and instead of gazing into the distance, she fixed them on
a black speck which flew towards her in a straight line from Nitetis'
house, becoming larger and more distinct every moment; and finally
settling on a cypress before her window. The sorrow vanished at once
from her lovely face and with a deep sigh of relief she sprang up,
exclaiming:

"Oh, there is the Homai, the bird of good fortune! Now everything will
turn out well."

It was the same bird of paradise which had brought so much comfort to
Nitetis that now gave poor Atossa fresh confidence.

She bent forward to see whether any one was in the garden; and finding
that she would be seen by no one but the old gardener, she jumped out,
trembling like a fawn, plucked a few roses and cypress twigs and took
them to the old man, who had been watching her performances with a
doubtful shake of the head.

She stroked his cheeks coaxingly, put her flowers in his brown hand, and
said: "Do you love me, Sabaces?"

"O, my mistress!" was the only answer the old man could utter, as he
pressed the hem of her robe to his lips.

"I believe you, my old friend, and I will show you how I trust my
faithful, old Sabaces. Hide these flowers carefully and go quickly to
the king's palace. Say that you had to bring fruit for the table. My
poor brother Bartja, and Darius, the son of the noble Hystaspes, are
in prison, near the guard-house of the Immortals. You must manage that
these flowers reach them, with a warm greeting from me, but mind, the
message must be given with the flowers."

"But the guards will not allow me to see the pris