"Why, then you will die by the boat," the jailer replied.

"Do you mean we shall be drowned?" Chares inquired.

The jailer laughed harshly. "That would be too easy," he said. "Death by the boat has nothing to do with the water, as you will find. They will place you in the shallop with your head, arms, and feet outside.

Then they will cover you with honey and place another boat upside down over you. This will leave your head and hands free through the holes.

The ants and the flies are fond of honey. I have known men to live a week in their snug wooden jackets; but they usually go crazy after a few days, when the ants begin to eat them."

"That is very interesting," Chares remarked. "When will they begin the torture?"

"To-morrow morning," the man replied, "and I advise you to get a sound sleep; you will be able to stand the pain better."

He passed on down the corridor, humming to himself as though his mind were filled with pleasant thoughts.

"That is a nice prospect," Chares said, turning away from the grating.

"I wonder what Nathan intends to do?"

"We can only wait," Clearchus replied. "I think we had better pretend that we are asleep, so that your friend the sentinel will at least let us alone."

They stretched themselves upon the stone floor and waited, talking in whispers. With nightfall, the prison grew utterly dark, excepting in the corridor, where the surly guard lighted oil lamps, set at intervals in niches in the wall. These made brief spaces of light in the gloomy passageway, through which the man went and came with monotonous tread.

There was silence in that part of the prison where they were, indicating that the other condemned cells were vacant. For a time the sound of voices reached them faintly through the slit in the wall, but these gradually ceased as the night advanced.

One of the lamps had been set directly opposite their cell, but its feeble glimmer hardly extended to the bars of their cage, although it rendered objects in the corridor dimly distinct.

Hour followed hour, and each seemed like a week to the young Athenian.

Chares, overcome by drowsiness, had fallen asleep at his side.

Clearchus wondered at the careless nature of his friend that permitted him to close his eyes in the face of so horrible a death. He had no doubt that Nathan would seek to rescue them, but he knew not when nor how. Perhaps he would attempt intercession with Darius. Perhaps he would defer the trial until the morning. What if he should fail?

Clearchus was far from being a coward, but his nerves shrank from the thought of the torture and the lingering agony that would follow before death came to set them free. The very idea of death, since now he knew that Artemisia was living and in need of him, filled his heart with anguish.

As he lay gazing into the corridor, with his head upon his hand, he recalled her face as it had appeared to him in the happy garden in Academe, with the sunlight on her hair and the color of the wild rose in her cheeks. He remembered how her blue eyes had looked into his with sweet wistfulness and how the tears dimmed them when she told him of the fears that had beset her. The tears rose to his own eyes at the remembrance, and he ground his teeth as he thought of his helplessness.

Why had he not trusted the prevision of her finer perceptions, half ethereal as they were? Why had he not remained to defend her and to prevent the train of misfortunes which had followed?

The sentinel paused at the door of the cell for a moment in passing.

He noted the deep breathing of Chares and resumed his march with a yawn. Clearchus listened, mechanically counting his steps until he should reach the spot where they were to turn. Suddenly a sound came to his ears that caused him to sit up and listen intently. There were other footfalls in the corridor. They were advancing in the track of the sentinel from the direction of the entrance.

The Athenian's pulses bounded. Help had come. He stretched out his hand to rouse Chares, but in an instant he reflected that there was evidently no effort at concealment on the part of the newcomer. The steps were careless and deliberate. Probably they were made by another guard, who had come to relieve the bloodthirsty wretch outside. His hope sank as suddenly as it had arisen and he let his hand fall.

"Why should I awaken him?" he thought. "Let him sleep."

Slowly the steps advanced. Clearchus crept to the door of the cell and peered out through the grating. A man's figure was approaching along the passage. It was Nathan. Clearchus rose quickly to his feet and shook Chares by the shoulder.

"Silence!" he whispered.

The Theban rubbed his eyes and stretched his great limbs.

"Where am I?" he muttered. "Oh, yes, I remember. What has happened?"

"Nathan is here," Clearchus said.

Chares was on his feet with a bound, and both stood listening breathlessly.

Nathan had reached the dim circle of light before their cell. His keen black eyes were glancing to the right and left at the dark gratings.

"We are here!" Clearchus whispered through the bars.

The Israelite turned his face toward them and smiled, trying to distinguish them in the darkness. In his hand he carried a roll of papyrus.

"Be ready!" he said, in a scarcely audible tone.

"Who are you?" the sentinel demanded, catching sight of Nathan for the first time.

Nathan halted close to the bars of the cell and awaited his approach without reply.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked gruffly as he approached.

"I have an order for you," Nathan replied coolly, unrolling the papyrus as he spoke. "Read it."

The man took the papyrus in his hand and looked at it. Then he glanced cunningly at Nathan.

"What does it mean?" he growled, handing it back. "I cannot read."

This was evidently a contingency that had not entered into Nathan's calculations.

"It is signed by Boupares--here, do you see!" he said, holding the writing under the jailer's nose.

"Well, what then?" the man asked suspiciously.

"It is an order," Nathan continued. "You are to deliver the Greek prisoners to me immediately."

"What are you going to do with them?" the jailer asked.

"Boupares desires to talk with them before they are examined," Nathan explained.

"I shall not give them up," the jailer replied, with the air of a man who has made up his mind. "If Boupares wishes to see them, let him come here. They were sent to me under the seal of the king himself, and this order of yours has no seal. Do you think I want to be boiled alive as my comrade was last month? I can hear his yells yet, for I helped to do it. You can tell Boupares what I have said, and now be off."

Like most ignorant men when they think, or pretend to think, that they are being imposed upon, the jailer raised his voice to a bullying shout. Nathan looked apprehensively over his shoulder toward the entrance of the prison. The harsh tone echoed between the narrow walls and might be easily heard at the gate, where several men were stationed.

"Give me your keys," he said quietly. "You know the penalty for disobeying an order."

The jailer stepped to the door of the cell and stood defiantly, with his back against the bars.

"I will not give them!" he said.

From within the cell the man's figure was outlined against the light of the lamp. Chares moved forward in the darkness behind him with noiseless tread, and his fingers closed suddenly around the jailer's throat. The wretch gasped once and threw up his chin, struggling convulsively to free himself from the iron clutch that encircled his neck. His struggles were in vain. The Theban drew him silently back against the bars. His feet scuffled on the stone floor, and his short spear clattered from his hand.

"Take the keys," Clearchus whispered.

Nathan quickly detached the keys from the jailer's belt and unlocked the door of the cell. Clearchus slipped through the open door, picking up the jailer's spear as he went. Chares relaxed his hold, and the man's body slipped in a huddled heap to the floor.