And here, here he was shut up with nothing to look at but the fine Grecian theatre and racecourse, lying at the foot of the high rock, or the constant, endless view from his prison windows of the peaceful valley of the Hermos, and of the country beyond, stretching into the dim distance, a view which may still be seen by the traveller who ascends to-day the crumbling remains of the rock on which stood the citadel of Sardis, where Alkibiades and his companion were imprisoned. It seemed to him, however, after a time, that the guards grew slacker in their watch. Sometimes, especially in the evening, he noticed that if a fresh guard did not come at the proper time, the others, tired of their cold, dreary duty, went off before they were relieved. He knew from old experience how much more the Easterns leave to chance than the better disciplined Greek soldiers would dare to do. He could see through the gateway the tired guard pacing up and down, and one or two beggars who came for broken victuals. He sometimes amused himself by throwing small coins to the half-starved mendicants to see them scramble for the money. This unwonted good fortune was soon noised about among the beggars, and brought others, till, whenever he took his evening exercise, a number, drawn by news of this largess, clamoured at the gateway. Even the guards were not above joining in the scramble sometimes when no one saw them, and would push the ragged crowd away, to pick up the scattered coins themselves. Alkibiades did not discourage this, and the good-natured warder who was in charge pretended not to see it. Emboldened by their liberty, some beggars would even thrust their hands through the bars, piteously praying for his dole, and still the warder only laughed if he caught them speaking to his prisoner. So a whole month passed. It was on the last day of that first month of his incarceration, when the crowd of beggars was greater, and they were crying out more loudly than ever as they pushed their lean, dirty hands through to him, that he noticed a hand which looked different, stronger than the others, and which was unopened. Struck with the strange sight of an unopened hand pushed through the gates, he gently touched it; it opened slightly, and he saw a minute scroll rolled up inside. He took it, unseen by the warder, and throwing some coins to the poor mendicants, retired to his room. He opened the scroll. There was just light enough to read the few words on the rolled-up papyrus leaf. On it was written in well-known characters, ‘Hour after sunset courtyard wall.’