wicked plot! Some jealous god has devised this guile,
seeing we were too happy!"

She shook with sobs, and Glaucon, roused to manhood by her grief, uprose
and faced the stern face of Democrates, the blenching faces of the rest.

"I am the victim of a conspiracy of all the fiends in Tartarus,"--he strove
hard to speak steadily; "I did not write that second letter. It is a
forgery."

"But who, then," groaned Themistocles, hopelessly, "_can_ claim this
handiwork? Democrates or I?--for no other has seen the memorandum,--that I
swear. It has not yet gone to Leonidas. It has been guarded as the apple
of my eye. We three alone knew thereof. And it is in this narrow room the
betrayer of Hellas must stand."

"I cannot explain." Glaucon staggered back to his seat. His wife's head
sank upon his lap. The two sat in misery.

"Confess, by the remnants of our friendship I implore, confess," ordered
Democrates, "and then Themistocles and I will strive to lighten if
possible your inevitable doom."

The accused man sat dumb, but Hermione struck back as some wild creature
driven to bay. She lifted her head.

"Has Glaucon here no friend but me, his wife?" She sent beseeching eyes
about the room. "Do you all cry 'guilty, guilty'? Then is your friendship
false, for when is friendship proved, save in the hour of need?"

The appeal brought an answer from her father, who had been standing
silent; and in infinite distress kindly, cautious, charitable Hermippus
began:--

"Dear Glaucon, Hermione is wrong; we were never more your friends. We are
willing to believe the best and not the worst. Therefore tell all frankly.
You have been a victim of great temptation. The Isthmian victory has
turned your head. The Persian was subtle, plausible. He promised I know
not what. You did not realize all you were doing. You had confederates
here in Athens who are more guilty. We can make allowances. Tell only the
truth, and the purse and influence of Hermippus of Eleusis shall never be
held back to save his son-in-law."

"Nor mine, nor mine," cried Themistocles, snatching at every straw; "only
confess, the temptation was great, others were more guilty, everything
then may be done--"

Glaucon drew himself together and looked up almost proudly. Slowly he was
recovering strength and wit.

"I have nothing to confess," he spoke, "nothing. I know nothing of this
Persian spy. Can I swear the god's own oath--by Earth, by Sky, by the
Styx--"

Themistocl