Scarcely had he ceased to speak before a command in Greek was given to halt and give the password. Before Ladice could realize what had happened, she heard the sounds of struggle. Her eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could faintly discern the gleam of weapons, but she dared not strike for she could not distinguish between the antagonists. She soon realized that they were not fighting near her, and a sudden fear seized her; they might miss their footing and slip over the edge of the declivity! She decided to raise her voice in warning, when the unmistakable sound of breaking twigs and loosened stones rolling down the precipice, convinced her that her worst fears were an actuality. Stunned with horror she stood for some time unable to decide what to do. At last dreading that Artabazus might by now be well on his way in pursuit of her, she pressed on in an agony of fear. The foliage was now a little thinner and she could see the first faint glow of dawn in the sky. Her physical progress was more rapid, but mentally she was stupified by the horror of her rescuer’s fate, and she did not hear the sounds of approaching footsteps till they were immediately behind her.
Her first expression was one of relief that her pursuer was not Artabazus, but she observed with chagrin that he wore a Greek uniform. Raising her eyes half fearfully to his face she uttered an exclamation of joy. It was Zopyrus!
“I am glad I did not have to kill the fellow to get this uniform, for I am a Greek. His neck was broken in the fall and as for me—” he pointed to his right arm which hung useless by his side, “I’m afraid I shall not be of much service to Greece!”
Ladice opened her knapsack and tore from her dress a strip with which she dexterously bandaged the broken member. This done, she discarded the Persian uniform for the torn dress and together they descended the southern slope of Mt. Cithæron as the roseate hues of morning gradually melted away into bright daylight.
CHAPTER X.
A Venture At the Eve of Battle.
“There nature moulds as nobly now,
As e’er of old, the human brow;
And copies still the martial form
That braved Platæa’s battle storm.”
William Cullen Bryant.