ight." The Prince rose, smiled, held out his hand. "Unbar the
door for his Excellency, Hiram. And you, noble sir, think well of all I
said at Corinth on the certain victory of my master; think also--" the
voice fell--"how Democrates the Codrid could be sovereign of Athens under
the protection of Persia."

"I tyrant of Athens?" the orator clapped his hand behind his back; "you
say enough. Good evening."

He was on the threshold, when the slave-boy touched his master's hand in
silent signal.

"And if there be any fair woman you desire,"--how gliding the Cyprian's
voice!--"shall not the power of Xerxes the great give her unto you?"

Why did Democrates feel his forehead turn to flame? Why--almost against
will--did he stretch forth his hand to the Cyprian? He went down the stair
scarce feeling the steps beneath him. At the bottom voices greeted him
from across the darkened street.

"A fair evening, Master Glaucon."

"A fair evening," his mechanical answer; then to himself; as he walked
away, "Wherefore call me Glaucon? I have somewhat his height, though not
his shoulder. Ah,--I know it, I have chanced to borrow his carved
walking-stick. Impudent creatures to read the name!"

He had not far to go. Athens was compactly built, all quarters close
together. Yet before he reached home and bed, he was fighting back an
ill-defined but terrible thought. "Glaucon! They think I am Glaucon. If I
chose to betray the Cyprian--" Further than that he would not suffer the
thought to go. He lay sleepless, fighting against it. The dark was full of
the harpies of uncanny suggestion. He arose unrefreshed, to proffer every
god the same prayer: "Deliver me from evil imaginings. Speed the ship to
Corinth."

CHAPTER VIII

ON THE ACROPOLIS

The Acropolis of Athens rises as does no other citadel in the world. Had
no workers in marble or bronze, no weavers of eloquence or song, dwelt
beneath its shadow, it would stand the centre and cynosure of a remarkable
landscape. It is "_The Rock_," no other like unto it. Is it enough to say
its ruddy limestone rises as a huge boulder one hundred and fifty feet
above the plain, that its breadth is five hundred, its length one
thousand? Numbers and measures can never disclose a soul,--and the Rock of
Athens has all but a soul: a soul seems to glow through its adamant when
the fire-footed morning steals over the long crest of Hymettus,