Thus the citizens of Athens spoke to one another as they left the place, and the blue twilight was falling.  They had determined to kill the restless gadfly in the hope that the countenances of the gods would shine again.  And yet—­before their souls arose the mild figure of the singular philosopher.  There were some citizens who recalled how courageously he had shared their troubles and dangers at Potidaea; how he alone had prevented them from committing the sin of unjustly executing the generals after the victory over the Arginusaee; how he alone had dared to raise his voice against the tyrants who had had fifteen hundred people put to death, speaking to the people on the market-place concerning shepherds and their sheep.

“Is not he a good shepherd,” he asked, “who guards his flock and watches over its increase?  Or is it the work of the good shepherd to reduce the number of his sheep and disperse them, and of the good ruler to do the same with his people?  Men of Athens, let us investigate this question!”

And at this question of the solitary, undefended philosopher, the faces of the tyrants paled, while the eyes of the youths kindled with the fire of just wrath and indignation.

Thus, when on dispersing after the sentence the Athenians recalled all these things of Socrates, their hearts were oppressed with heavy doubt.

“Have we not done a cruel wrong to the son of Sophroniscus?”

But then the good Athenians looked upon the harbour and the sea, and in the red glow of the dying day they saw the purple sails of the sharp-keeled ship, sent to the Delian festival, shimmering in the distance on the blue Pontus.  The ship would not return until the expiration of a month, and the Athenians recollected that during this time no blood might be shed in Athens, whether the blood of the innocent or the guilty.  A month, moreover, has many days and still more hours.  Supposing the son of Sophroniscus had been unjustly condemned, who would hinder his escaping from the prison, especially since he had numerous friends to help him?  Was it so difficult for the rich Plato, for AEschines and others to bribe the guards?  Then the restless gadfly would flee from Athens to the barbarians in Thessaly, or to the Peloponnesus, or, still farther, to Egypt; Athens would no longer hear his blasphemous speeches; his death would not weigh upon the conscience of the worthy citizens, and so everything would end for the best of all.

Thus said many to themselves that evening, while aloud they praised the wisdom of the demos and the heliasts.  In secret, however, they cherished the hope that the restless philosopher would leave Athens, fly from the hemlock to the barbarians, and so free the Athenians of his troublesome presence and of the pangs of consciences that smote them for inflicting death upon an innocent man.

Two and thirty times since that evening had the sun risen from the ocean and dipped down into it again.  The ship had returned from Delos and lay in the harbour with sadly drooping sails, as if ashamed of its native city.  The moon did not shine in the heavens, the sea heaved under a heavy fog, and, on the, hills lights peered through the obscurity like the eyes of men gripped by a sense of guilt.