er company was well selected, convention was waived, and
ladies were present. Hermione sat on a wide chair beside Lysistra, her
comely mother; her younger brothers on stools at either hand. Directly
across the narrow table Glaucon and Democrates reclined on the same couch.
The eyes of husband and wife seldom left each other; their tongues flew
fast; they never saw how Democrates hardly took his gaze from the face of
Hermione. Simonides, who reclined beside Themistocles,--having struck a
firm friendship with that statesman on very brief acquaintance,--was
overrunning with humour and anecdote. The great man beside him was hardly
his second in the fence of wit and wisdom. After the fish had given way to
the wine, Simonides regaled the company with a gravely related story of
how the Dioscuri had personally appeared to him during his last stay in
Thessaly and saved him from certain death in a falling building.

"You swear this is a true tale, Simonides?" began Themistocles, with one
eye in his head.

"It's impiety to doubt. As penalty, rise at once and sing a song in honour
of Glaucon's victory."

"I am no singer or harpist," returned the statesman, with a
self-complacency he never concealed. "I only know how to make Athens
powerful."

"Ah! you son of Miltiades," urged the poet, "at least you will not refuse
so churlishly."

Cimon, with due excuses, arose, called for a harp, and began tuning it;
but not all the company were destined to hear him. A slave-boy touched
Themistocles on the shoulder, and the latter started to go.

"The Dioscuri will save you?" demanded Simonides, laughing.

"Quite other gods," rejoined the statesman; "your pardon, Cimon, I return
in a moment. An agent of mine is back from Asia, surely with news of
weight, if he must seek me at once in Eleusis."

But Themistocles lingered outside; an instant more brought a summons to
Democrates, who found Themistocles in an antechamber, deep in talk with
Sicinnus,--nominally the tutor of his sons, actually a trusted spy. The
first glance at the Asiatic's keen face and eyes was disturbing. An inward
omen--not from the entrails of birds, nor a sign in the heavens--told
Democrates the fellow brought no happy tidings.

With incisive questions Themistocles had been bringing out everything.

"So it is absolutely certain that Xerxes begins his invasion next spring?"

"As certain as that Helios will rise to-morrow."

"Forewarned is forearmed. Now where have yo