y strong. One cannot keep the
swaddling clothes on him now. They say he will be a mighty athlete like
his father."

"Ah, yes--his father--" The sailor looked down.

"You knew Master Glaucon well?" pressed Dion, itching for a new bit of
gossip.

"Well," answered the sailor, standing gazing on the child as though
something held him fascinated, then shot another question. "And does the
babe's lady-mother prosper?"

"She is passing well in body, _kyrie_, but grievously ill in mind. Hera
give her a release from all her sorrow!"

"Sorrow?" The man's eyes were opening wider, wider. "What mean you?"

"Why, all Troezene knows it, I'm sure."

"I'm not from Troezene. My ship made port from Naxos this morning. Speak,
girl!"

He seized Niobe's wrist in a grip which she thought would crush the bone.

"_Ai!_ Let go, sir, you hurt. Don't stare so. I'm frightened. I'll tell as
fast as I can. Master Democrates has come back from Corinth. Hermippus is
resolved to make the _kyria_ wed him, however bitterly she resists. It's
taken a long time for her father to determine to break her will, but now
his mind's made up. The betrothal is in three days, the wedding ten days
thereafter."

The sailor had dropped her hand. She shrank at the pallor of his face. He
seemed struggling for words; when they came she made nothing of them.

"Themistocles, Themistocles--your promise!"

Then by some giant exercise of will he steadied. His speech grew more
coherent.

"Give me the child," he commanded, and Niobe mutely obeyed. He kissed
Phoenix on both cheeks, mouth, forehead. They saw that tears were running
down his bronzed face. He handed back the babe and again held out money,--a
coin for both the slave girl and the soothsayer,--gold half-darics, that
they gaped at wonderingly.

"Say nothing!" ordered the sailor, "nothing of what I have said or done,
or as Helios shines this noon, I will kill you both."

Not waiting reply, he went down the Agora at a run, and never looked back.
It took some moments for Dion and Niobe to recover their equanimity; they
would have believed it all a dream, but lo! in their hands gleamed the
money.

"There are times," remarked the soothsayer, dubiously at last, "when I
begin to think the gods again walk the earth and work wonders. This is a
very high matter. Even I with my art dare not meddle with it. It is best
to heed the injunction to silence. Wagging tongues always have troubles as
their children. Now le