e with riches and honour. Xerxes showered me with benefits."

"And you accompanied their army to Hellas? You went with the other Greek
renegades--the sons of Hippias and the rest?"

Glaucon's brow grew very red, but he met Themistocles's arrowlike gaze.

"I did--and yet--"

"Ah, yes--the 'yet,' " observed Themistocles, sarcastically. "I had
expected it. Well, I can imagine many motives for coming,--to betray our
hopes to the Persians, or even because Athena has put some contrite
manhood in your heart. You know, of course, that the resolution we passed
recalling the exiles did not extend pardon to traitors."

"I know it."

Themistocles flung himself into a chair. The admiral was in a rare
condition for him,--truly at a loss to divine the best word and question.

"Sit also, Simonides," his order, "and you, once Alcmaeonid and now outlaw,
tell why, after these confessions, I should believe any other part of your
story?"

"I do not ask you to believe,"--Glaucon stood like a statue,--"I shall not
blame you if you do the worst,--yet you shall hear--"

The admiral made an impatient gesture, commanding "Begin," and the
fugitive poured out his tale. All the voyage from Phaleron he had been
nerving himself for this ordeal; his composure did not desert now. He
related lucidly, briefly, how the fates had dealt with him since he fled
Colonus. Only when he told of his abiding with Leonidas Themistocles's
gaze grew sharper.

"Tell that again. Be careful. I am very good at detecting lies."

Glaucon repeated unfalteringly.

"What proof that you were with Leonidas?"

"None but my word. Euboulus of Corinth and the Spartans alone knew my
name. They are dead."

"Humph! And you expect me to accept the boast of a traitor with a price
upon his head?"

"You said you were good at detecting lies."

Themistocles's head went down between his hands; at last he lifted it and
gazed the deserter in the face.

"Now, son of Conon, do you still persist that you are innocent? Do you
repeat those oaths you swore at Colonus?"

"All. I did not write that letter."

"Who did, then?"

"A malignant god, I said. I will say it again."

Themistocles shook his head.

"Gods take human agencies to ruin a man in these days, even Hermes the
Trickster. Again I say, who wrote that letter?"

"Athena knows."

"And unfortunately her Ladyship the Goddess will not tell," cried the
admiral, blasphemously. "Let us fall back on easier questions. Did