wrath, and preferred keeping as far from him as possible. The dazzling
light and oppressive heat of a Babylonian May day came in through the
open windows, and not a sound was to be heard in the great room, except
the whining of a large dog of the Epirote breed, which had just received
a tremendous kick from Cambyses for venturing to fawn on his master, and
was the only being that ventured to disturb the solemn stillness. Just
before Hystaspes was led in by the chamberlain, Cambyses had sprung up
from his couch. This idle repose had become unendurable, he felt
suffocated with pain and anger. The dog's howl suggested a new idea to
his poor tortured brain, thirsting for forgetfulness.

"We will go out hunting!" he shouted to the poor startled courtiers.
The master of the hounds, the equerries, and huntsmen hastened to obey
his orders. He called after them, "I shall ride the unbroken horse
Reksch; get the falcons ready, let all the dogs out and order every one
to come, who can throw a spear. We'll clear the preserves!"

He then threw himself down on his divan again, as if these words had
quite exhausted his powerful frame, and did not see that Hystaspes had
entered, for his sullen gaze was fixed on the motes playing in the
sunbeams that glanced through the window.

Hystaspes did not dare to address him; but he stationed himself in the
window so as to break the stream of motes and thus draw attention to
himself.

At first Cambyses looked angrily at him and his rent garments, and then
asked with a bitter smile; "What do you want?"

"Victory to the king! Your poor servant and uncle has come to entreat