t, whilst looking on the scorched columns of the
Acropolis.

At length the sun spread his last gold of the evening. The eunuchs called
Glaucon to the pavilion of Artazostra, who came forth with Roxana for
their farewell. They were in royal purple. The amethysts in their hair
were worth a month's revenues of Corinth. Roxana had never been lovelier.
Glaucon was again in the simple Greek dress, but he knelt and kissed the
robes of both the women. Then rising he spoke to them.

"To you, O princess, my benefactress, I wish all manner of blessing. May
you be crowned with happy age, may your fame surpass Semiramis, the
conqueror queen of the fables, let the gods refuse only one prayer--the
conquest of Hellas. The rest of the world is yours, leave then to us our
own."

"And you, sister of Mardonius," he turned to Roxana now, "do not think I
despise your love or your beauty. That I have given you pain, is double
pain to me. But I loved you only in a dream. My life is not for the rose
valleys of Bactria, but for the stony hills by Athens. May Aphrodite give
you another love, a brighter fortune than might ever come by linking your
fate to mine."

They held out their hands. He kissed them. He saw tears on the long lashes
of Roxana.

"Farewell," spoke the women, simply.

"Farewell," he answered. He turned from them. He knew they were
re-entering the tent. He never saw the women again.

Mardonius accompanied him all the long way from the fount of Callirhoe to
the sea-shore. Glaucon protested, but the bow-bearer would not hearken.

"You have saved my life, Athenian," was his answer, "when you leave me
now, it is forever."

The moon was lifting above the gloomy mass of Hymettus and scattering all
the Attic plain with her pale gold. The Acropolis Rock loomed high above
them. Glaucon, looking upward, saw the moonlight flash on the spear point
and shield of a soldier,--a Barbarian standing sentry on the ruined shrine
of the Virgin Goddess. Once more the Alcmaeonid was leaving Athens, but
with very different thoughts than on that other night when he had fled at
Phormio's side. They quitted the desolate city and the sleeping camp. The
last bars of day had long since dimmed in the west when before them loomed
the hill of Munychia clustered also with tents, and beyond it the
violet-black vista of the sea. A forest of masts crowded the havens, the
fleet of the "Lord of the World" that was to complete his mastery with the
returning s