good as dead. And yet she durst not indulge her sorrow; she had to
restrain the despairing outbursts of grief of her impetuous child.

Atossa behaved like one deprived of her senses when she heard of the
sentences of death. The self-control which she had learnt from Nitetis
gave way, and her old impetuosity burst forth again with double
vehemence.

Nitetis, her only friend,--Bartja, the brother whom she loved with her
whole heart,--Darius, whom she felt now she not only looked up to as her
deliverer, but loved with all the warmth of a first affection--Croesus to
whom she clung like a father,--she was to lose every one she loved in one
day.

She tore her dress and her hair, called Cambyses a monster, and every one
who could possibly believe in the guilt of such people, infatuated or
insane. Then her tears would burst out afresh, she would utter imploring
supplications to the gods for mercy, and a few minutes later, begin
conjuring her mother to take her to the hanging-gardens, that they might
hear Nitetis' defence of her own conduct.

Kassandane tried to soothe the violent girl, and assured her every
attempt to visit the hanging-gardens would be in vain. Then Atossa began
to rage again, until at last her mother was forced to command silence,
and as morning had already began to dawn, sent her to her sleeping-room.

The girl obeyed, but instead of going to bed, seated herself at a tall
window looking towards the hanging-gardens. Her eyes filled with tears
again, as she thought of her friend--her sister-sitting in that palace
alone, forsaken, banished, and looking forward to an ignominious death.