"Very well, then I will vouch for it, that you shall receive at least two talents, if you can procure me an interview with the king before the first execution has taken place." "How can you ask such a thing of me, a poor captain? . . ." "Yes, you must, you must!" "I cannot." "I know well that it is very difficult, almost impossible, for a stranger to obtain an audience of your king; but my errand brooks no delay, for I can prove that Bartja and his friends are not guilty. Do you hear? I can prove it. Do you think now, you can procure me admittance?" "How is it possible?" "Don't ask, but act. Didn't you say Darius was one of the condemned?" "Yes." "I have heard, that his father is a man of very high rank." "He is the first in the kingdom, after the sons of Cyrus." "Then take me to him at once. He will welcome me when he hears I am able to save his son." "Stranger, you are a wonderful being. You speak with so much confidence that . . ." "That you feel you may believe me. Make haste then, and call some of your men to make way for us, and escort us to the palace." There is nothing, except a doubt, which runs more quickly from mind to mind, than a hope that some cherished wish may be fulfilled, especially when this hope has been suggested to us by some one we can trust. The officer believed this strange traveller, jumped out of the carriage, flourishing his scourge and calling to his men: "This nobleman has come on purpose to prove Bartja's innocence, and must be taken to the king at once. Follow me, my friends, and make way for him!" Just at that moment a troop of the guards appeared in sight. The captain of the whip-bearers went up to their commander, and, seconded by the shouts of the crowd, begged him to escort the stranger to the palace. During this colloquy the traveller had mounted his servant's horse, and now followed in the wake of the Persians. The good news flew like wind through the huge city. As the riders proceeded, the crowd fell back more willingly, and loader and fuller grew the shouts of joy until at last their march was like a triumphal procession. In a few minutes they drew up before the palace; but before the brazen gates had opened to admit them, another train came slowly into sight. At the head rode a grey-headed old man; his robes were brown, and rent, in token of mourning, the mane and tail of his horse had been shorn off and the creature colored blue.--It was Hystaspes, coming to entreat mercy for his son. The whip-bearer, delighted at this sight, threw himself down before the old man with a cry of joy, and with crossed arms told him what confidence the traveller had inspired him with.