“But have you forgotten your father’s dream? You know that Cambyses has always looked on me with suspicion since that time.” “Oh, that has been long forgotten. My father dreamt before his death that you had wings, and was misled by the soothsayers into the fancy that you, though you were only eighteen then, would try to gain the crown. Cambyses thought of this dream too; but, when you saved my mother and sister, Croesus explained to him that this must have been its fulfilment, as no one but Darius or a winged eagle could possibly have possessed strength and dexterity enough to hang suspended over such an abyss.” “Yes, and I remember too that these words did not please your brother. He chooses to be the only eagle in Persia; but Croesus does not spare his vanity--” “Where can Croesus be all this time?” “In the hanging-gardens. My father and Gobryas have very likely detained him.” Just at that moment the voice of Zopyrus was heard exclaiming, “Well, I call that polite! Bartja invites us to a wine-party and leaves us sitting here without a host, while he talks secrets yonder.” “We are coming, we are coming,” answered Bartja. Then taking the hand of Darius heartily, he said: “I am very glad that you love Atossa. I shall stay here till the day after to-morrow, let the stars threaten me with all the dangers in the world. To-morrow I will find out what Atossa feels, and when every thing is in the right track I shall go away, and leave my winged Darius to his own powers.” So saying Bartja went back into the arbor, and his friend began to watch the stars again. The longer he looked the sadder and more serious became his face, and when the Tistar-star set, he murmured, “Poor Bartja!” His friends called him, and he was on the point of returning to them, when he caught sight of a new star, and began to examine its position carefully. His serious looks gave way to a triumphant smile, his tall figure seemed to grow taller still, he pressed his hand on his heart and whispered: “Use your pinions, winged Darius; your star will be on your side,” and then returned to his friends. A few minutes after, Croesus came up to the arbor. The youths sprang from their seats to welcome the old man, but when he saw Bartja’s face by the bright moonlight, he stood as if transfixed by a flash of lightning. “What has happened, father?” asked Gyges, seizing his hand anxiously. “Nothing, nothing,” he stammered almost inaudibly, and pushing his son on one side, whispered in Bartja’s ear: “Unhappy boy, you are still here? don’t delay any longer,--fly at once! the whip-bearers are close at my heels, and I assure you that if you don’t use the greatest speed, you will have to forfeit your double imprudence with your life.” “But Croesus, I have...” “You have set at nought the law of the land and of the court, and, in appearance at least, have done great offence to your brother’s honor. ...” “You are speaking...”