offers, induced Cyrus to remove me from my office near her, and to accept her husband Abradatas as an ally.  When her handsome husband went out to the war, this high-minded, faithful woman decked him out with all her own jewels and told him that the noble conduct of Cyrus, in treating her like a sister, when she was his captive, could only be repaid by the most devoted friendship and heroic courage.  Abradatas agreed with her, fought for Cyrus like a lion, and fell.  Panthea killed herself by his dead body.  Her servants, on hearing of this, put an end to their own lives too at the grave of this best of mistresses.  Cyrus shed tears over this noble pair, and had a stone set up to their memory, which you can see near Sardis.  On it are the simple words:  ’To Panthea, Abradatas, and the most faithful of servants.’  You see, children, the man who had loved such a woman could never care for another.”

The young men listened in silence, and remained some time after Araspes had finished, without uttering a word.  At last Bartja raised his hands to heaven and cried:  “O thou great Auramazda! why dost thou not grant us a glorious end like Abradatas?  Why must we die a shameful death like murderers?”

As he said this Croesus came in, fettered and led by whip-bearers.  The friends rushed to him with a storm of questions, and Bartja too went up to embrace the man who had been so long his tutor and guide.  But the old man’s cheerful face was severe and serious, and his eyes, generally so mild, had a gloomy, almost threatening, expression.  He waved the prince coldly back, saying, in a voice which trembled with pain and reproach:  “Let my hand go, you infatuated boy! you are not worth all the love I have hitherto felt for you.  You have deceived your brother in a fourfold manner, duped your friends, betrayed that poor child who is waiting for you in Naukratis, and poisoned the heart of Amasis’ unhappy daughter.”

Bartja listened calmly till he heard the word “deceived”; then his hand clenched, and stamping his foot, he cried:  “But for your age and infirmities, and the gratitude I owe you, old man, these slanderous words would be your last.”

Croesus beard this outbreak of just indignation unmoved, and answered:  “This foolish rage proves that you and Cambyses have the same blood in your veins.  It would become you much better to repent of your crimes, and beg your old friend’s forgiveness, instead of adding ingratitude to the unheard-of baseness of your other deeds.”

At these words Bartja’s anger gave way.  His clenched hands sank down powerless at his side, and his cheeks became pale as death.

These signs of sorrow softened the old man’s indignation.  His love was strong enough to embrace the guilty as well as the innocent Bartja, and taking the young man’s right hand in both his own, he looked at him as a father would who finds his son, wounded on the battle-field, and said:  “Tell me, my poor, infatuated boy, how was it that your pure heart fell away so quickly to the evil powers?”