The girl obeyed, but instead of going to bed, seated herself at a tall window looking towards the hanging-gardens. Her eyes filled with tears again, as she thought of her friend--her sister-sitting in that palace alone, forsaken, banished, and looking forward to an ignominious death. Suddenly her tearful, weary eyes lighted up as if from some strong purpose, and instead of gazing into the distance, she fixed them on a black speck which flew towards her in a straight line from Nitetis’ house, becoming larger and more distinct every moment; and finally settling on a cypress before her window. The sorrow vanished at once from her lovely face and with a deep sigh of relief she sprang up, exclaiming: “Oh, there is the Homai, the bird of good fortune! Now everything will turn out well.” It was the same bird of paradise which had brought so much comfort to Nitetis that now gave poor Atossa fresh confidence. She bent forward to see whether any one was in the garden; and finding that she would be seen by no one but the old gardener, she jumped out, trembling like a fawn, plucked a few roses and cypress twigs and took them to the old man, who had been watching her performances with a doubtful shake of the head. She stroked his cheeks coaxingly, put her flowers in his brown hand, and said: “Do you love me, Sabaces?” “O, my mistress!” was the only answer the old man could utter, as he pressed the hem of her robe to his lips. “I believe you, my old friend, and I will show you how I trust my faithful, old Sabaces. Hide these flowers carefully and go quickly to the king’s palace. Say that you had to bring fruit for the table. My poor brother Bartja, and Darius, the son of the noble Hystaspes, are in prison, near the guard-house of the Immortals. You must manage that these flowers reach them, with a warm greeting from me, but mind, the message must be given with the flowers.” “But the guards will not allow me to see the prisoners.” “Take these rings, and slip them into their hands.” “I will do my best.” “I knew you loved me, my good Sabaces. Now make haste, and come back soon.” The old man went off as fast as he could. Atossa looked thoughtfully after him, murmuring to herself: “Now they will both know, that I loved them to the last. The rose means, ‘I love you,’ and the evergreen cypress, ‘true and steadfast.’” The old man came back in an hour; bringing her Bartja’s favorite ring, and from Darius an Indian handkerchief dipped in blood. Atossa ran to meet him; her eyes filled with tears as she took the tokens, and seating herself under a spreading plane-tree, she pressed them by turns to her lips, murmuring: “Bartja’s ring means that he thinks of me; the blood-stained handkerchief that Darius is ready to shed his heart’s blood for me.” Atossa smiled as she said this, and her tears, when she thought of her friends and their sad fate, were quieter, if not less bitter, than before.