words
about "the evening" and "the garden gate."

Phormio refused the drachma brusquely, but kept the tryst. Cleopis had the
key to the garden, and would contrive anything for her mistress--especially
as all Athens knew Phormio was harmless save with his tongue. That evening
for the first time Hermione heard the true story of Glaucon's escape by
the _Solon_, but when the fishmonger paused she hung down her head closer.

"You saved him, then? I bless you. But was the sea more merciful than the
executioner?"

The fishmonger let his voice fall lower.

"Democrates is unhappy. Something weighs on his mind. He is afraid."

"Of what?"

"Bias his slave came to see me again last night. Many of his master's
doings have been strange to him. Many are riddles still, but one thing at
last is plain. Hiram has been to see Democrates once more, despite the
previous threats. Bias listened. He could not understand everything, but
he heard Lycon's name passed many times, then one thing he caught clearly.
'_The Babylonish carpet-seller was the Prince Mardonius._' 'The Babylonian
fled on the _Solon_.' 'The Prince is safe in Sardis.' If Mardonius could
escape the storm and wreck, why not Glaucon, a king among swimmers?"

Hermione clapped her hands to her head.

"Don't torture me. I've long since trodden out hope. Why has he sent me no
word in all these months of pain?"

"It is not the easiest thing to get a letter across the AEgean in these
days of roaring war."

"I dare not believe it. What else did Bias hear?"

"Very little. Hiram was urging something. Democrates always said,
'Impossible.' Hiram went away with a very sour grin. However, Democrates
caught Bias lurking."

"And flogged him?"

"No, Bias ran into the street and cried out he would flee to the Temple of
Theseus, the slave's sanctuary, and demand that the archon sell him to a
kinder master. Then suddenly Democrates forgave him and gave him five
drachmae to say no more about it."

"And so Bias at once told you?" Hermione could not forbear a smile, but
her gesture was of desperation. "O Father Zeus--only the testimony of a
slave to lean on, I a weak woman and Democrates one of the chief men in
Athens! O for strength to wring out all the bitter truth!"

"Peace, _kyria_," said Phormio, not ungently, "Aletheia, Mistress Truth,
is a patient dame, but she says her word at last. And you see that hope is
not quite dead."

"I dare not cherish it. If I were but a man!" rep