no little circumlocution he had demanded of him fidelity, counsel and aid, he fully discovered to him who he was, and the purpose and motive of his coming thither.  Now, albeit to hear Mitridanes thus unfold his horrid design caused Nathan no small inward commotion, yet ’twas not long before courageously and composedly he thus made answer:—­“Noble was thy father, Mitridanes, and thou art minded to shew thyself not unworthy of him by this lofty emprise of thine, to wit, of being liberal to all comers:  and for that thou art envious of Nathan’s merit I greatly commend thee; for were many envious for a like cause, the world, from being a most wretched, would soon become a happy place.  Doubt not that I shall keep secret the design which thou hast confided to me, for the furtherance whereof ’tis good advice rather than substantial aid that I have to offer thee.  Which advice is this.  Hence, perhaps half a mile off, thou mayst see a copse, in which almost every morning Nathan is wont to walk, taking his pleasure, for quite a long while:  ’twill be an easy matter for thee to find him there, and deal with him as thou mayst be minded.  Now, shouldst thou slay him, thou wilt get thee home with less risk of let, if thou take not the path by which thou camest hither, but that which thou seest issue from the copse on the left, for, though ’tis somewhat more rough, it leads more directly to thy house, and will be safer for thee.”

Possessed of this information, Mitridanes, when Nathan had left him, privily apprised his comrades, who were likewise lodged in the palace, of the place where they were to await him on the ensuing day; which being come, Nathan, inflexibly determined to act in all respects according to the advice which he had given Mitridanes, hied him forth to the copse unattended, to meet his death.  Mitridanes, being risen, took his bow and sword, for other arms he had none with him, mounted his horse, and rode to the copse, through which, while he was yet some way off, he saw Nathan passing, quite alone.  And being minded, before he fell upon him, to see his face and hear the sound of his voice, as, riding at a smart pace, he came up with him, he laid hold of him by his head-gear, exclaiming:—­“Greybeard, thou art a dead man.”  Whereto Nathan answered nought but:—­“Then ’tis but my desert.”  But Mitridanes, hearing the voice, and scanning the face, forthwith knew him for the same man that had welcomed him heartily, consorted with him familiarly, and counselled him faithfully; whereby his wrath presently subsided, and gave place to shame.  Wherefore, casting away the sword that he held drawn in act to strike, he sprang from his horse, and weeping, threw himself at Nathan’s feet, saying:—­“Your liberality, dearest father, I acknowledge to be beyond all question, seeing with what craft you did plot your coming hither to yield me your life, for which, by mine own avowal, you knew that I, albeit cause I had none, did thirst.  But God, more regardful of