“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 . . .”

“Fly, I tell you—­fly at once; for if your visit to the hanging-gardens was ever so innocently meant, you are still in the greatest danger.  You know Cambyses’ violent temper so well; how could you so wickedly disobey his express command?”

“I don’t understand.”

“No excuses,—­fly! don’t you know that, Cambyses has long been jealous of you, and that your visit to the Egyptian to-night . . .”

“I have never once set foot in the hanging-gardens, since Nitetis has been here.”

“Don’t add a lie to your offence, I . . .”

“But I swear to you . . .”

“Do you wish to turn a thoughtless act into a crime by adding the guilt of perjury?  The whip-bearers are coming, fly!”

“I shall remain here, and abide by my oath.”

“You are infatuated!  It is not an hour ago since I myself, Hystaspes, and others of the Achaemenidae saw you in the hanging-gardens . . .”

In his astonishment Bartja had, half involuntarily, allowed himself to be led away, but when he heard this he stood still, called his friends and said “Croesus says he met me an hour ago in the hanging-gardens, you know that since the sun set I have not been away from you.  Give your testimony, that in this case an evil Div must have made sport of our friend and his companions.”