s. And not even Roxana,
keenly as pierced her sorrow, would think of that.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DARKEST HOUR

A city of two hundred thousand awaiting a common sentence of death,--such
seemed the doom of Athens.

Every morning the golden majesty of the sun rose above the wall of
Hymettus, but few could lift their hands to Lord Helios and give praise
for another day of light. "Each sunrise brings Xerxes nearer." The bravest
forgot not that.

Yet Athens was never more truly the "Violet-Crowned City" than on these
last days before the fearful advent. The sun at morn on Hymettus, the sun
at night on Daphni, the nightingales and cicadas in the olives by
Cephissus, the hum of bees on the sweet thyme of the mountain, the purple
of the hills, the blue and the fire of the bay, the merry tinkle of the
goat bells upon the rocks, the laugh of little children in the streets--all
these made Athens fair, but could not take the cloud from the hearts of
the people.

Trade was at standstill in the Agora. The most careless frequented the
temples. Old foes composed their cases before the arbitrator. The courts
were closed, but there was meeting after meeting in the Pnyx, with
incessant speeches on one theme--how Athens must resist to the bitter end.

And why should not the end be bitter? Argos and Crete had Medized. Corcyra
promised and did nothing. Thebes was weakening. Thessaly had sent earth
and water. Corinth, AEgina, and a few lesser states were moderately loyal,
but great Sparta only procrastinated and despatched no help to her
Athenian ally. So every day the Persian thunder-cloud was darkening.

But one man never faltered, nor suffered others about him to
falter,--Themistocles. The people heard him gladly--he would never talk of
defeat. He had a thousand reasons why the invader should be baffled, from
a convenient hexameter in old Bacis's oracle book, up to the fact that the
Greeks used the longest spears. If he found it weary work looking the
crowding peril in the face and smiling still, he never confessed it. His
friends would marvel at his serenity. Only when they saw him sit silent,
saw his brows knit, his hand comb at his beard, they knew his
inexhaustible brain was weaving the web which should ensnare the lord of
the Aryans.

Thus day after day--while men thought dark things in their hearts.

* * * * * * *

Hermippus h